


My Ghost

by sanctuary_for_all



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crimes & Criminals, Feels, Fluff, Fuck These Writers, Ghosts, Humor, I'm Going To Fix Everything If It Kills Me, I'm Taking On The Entire Second Half The Season, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8810746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: Leonard Snart had spent most of his life trying to keep Mick Rory alive. Being dead sure as hell wasn't going to be enough to stop him.(Starts at 2X08 and continues to re-write the season up to 2X15, at which point I finally wrestle the plot away from the writers completely and run off in the opposite direction. To specify, nothing that happens in 2X16 and 2X17 exists here. NOTHING.)





	1. Chapter 1

Leonard Snart had spent most of his life trying to keep Mick Rory alive. Being dead sure as hell wasn't going to be enough to stop him.

Of course, it was considerably harder now, since he no longer had a physical body he could use to knock Mick out and drag him away from danger. He couldn't even yell at him, or throw things to get his attention, since the Oculus had unfortunately not upgraded him to the poltergeist package when it had blown him into the afterlife he hadn't known existed.

Honestly, he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be here. He'd catch this white light out of the corner of his vision sometimes, and if he ever let himself turn around and look at it fully he had a sneaking suspicion that he'd see one of those glowing tunnels people always talked about.  Unless hell had gotten better at cons, apparently sacrificing yourself meant an automatic ticket to whatever passed for heaven around here.

He never turned around, even though the light was showing up more and more often these days. If some winged asshole showed up to try and press the issue, Len was fully prepared to punch them in the face to make his feelings known on the matter.

Because he couldn't leave Mick, especially not right now. What had initially just looked like terrible taste in new partners – Ray, Mick, really? _Ray?_ – had turned into something a hell of a lot more serious somewhere around the time Ray had stolen his jacket and broken his gun. Mick had just sat there while the bomb had ticked down, and there hadn’t even been the crazy light in his eyes that meant he’d been looking forward to fire. The pyromania was an old enemy of Len’s, but this? Mick just didn’t seem to care whether he lived or died.

And it was getting worse. He’d actively tried to kill himself twice when the crew was back in the Old West – Len had tried to pour all his willpower into moving Mick out of the way of that damn gun, and he hadn’t managed even an inch – and since then had settled into the kind of reckless lack of concern for his own life that would have gotten him shouted at if Len was still alive. Not that he didn’t try, even now, but it didn’t do any damn good when the person you were shouting at couldn’t hear you. When they’d made it back to 2016 – seriously, Barry, aliens? – he hadn’t even dared leave Mick long enough to check on Lisa.

Worse, hardly anyone else seemed to even _fucking_ notice. It didn’t matter if Mick had pulled away after the disaster with the ice gun – Ray should have damn well chased him down instead of forgetting he existed doing whatever the hell he was doing with Nate. No one else was doing any better, alternating between forgetting he existed and making fun of him. If he’d still had the ability to hurt people, most of the so-called “Legends” would have taken several trips to the infirmary each over the last couple of weeks.

The one person who seemed to give any kind of damn about Mick was Amaya, the new girl. Yeah, she’d held a knife on him when she first got here, but it wasn’t like he and Mick hadn’t held a gun to each other at various points over the years, and no matter how they’d started out it was clear she was the only one who saw Mick had all. Who worried about him even half as much as he needed to be worried about. Len knew he should be grateful that someone would bother taking care of one of the two people in the entire universe who really mattered to him (not anyone who’d actually known him, of course, no one he’d fucking _died_ protecting, but still).

Every time she smiled at Mick, though, he kind of wanted to turn her into an ice sculpture.

It was tempting even when she wasn’t quite smiling at him, especially when she was giving him a look like she could see right through his rough exterior to the soft heart he tried so hard to hide. She probably could, which made it that much worse.

Especially because she wasn’t wrong. The old Mick, the one who’d wanted to be left in 2046, would have jumped at the chance to play in 1920s Chicago. Gangsters had never been quite his thing, not nearly as much as they’d been Len’s, but the booze and crime were exactly his thing. Mick could do pretty damn good for himself in Old Chicago, certainly better than he was managing on the ship.

It was Len’s fault he was here in the first place. If he’d just said no at Rip’s offer, they’d both be safe robbing people blind in Barry’s rebooted Central City. If he’d let the crew drop Mick back in 2016 after the whole mess with the pirates, Lisa would be there to take care of him. Not Amaya, who looked at Mick like she wanted to touch him. Like she wanted to keep him.

Which she could, now that Len had gotten himself killed like a moron.

Len sneered at Amaya’s retreating back, though it was as much at himself as it was at the retreating woman. Some criminal mastermind he was – he’d boxed himself into a hell of a corner, and it was entirely his own damn fault. He could only imagine what Lisa would say. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Then he saw Mick flail out of the corner of his eye, like he’d suddenly heard someone speak in a quiet room, and Len froze the way he used to when he had a body to worry about. If the reflexes worked on his ghost the way they used to when he was alive, it set his expression at a mild sneer – not what he would have wanted for Mick, but it was all he could trust himself with.

And it was safer than the truth would have been when Mick looked at him with wide, raw eyes, breathing out the name “Len” for just a moment before stumbling into a slightly more collected Leonard. You were supposed to stop hurting after you were dead, but there was an ache in Len’s phantom chest that hurt worse than a gunshot.

The spell was broken when Mick turned away and knocked his hand against his forehead, muttering about how he was losing his mind, and Len forced himself to shove the emotion back and focus on the matter at hand. Spilling Len’s useless feelings on him wouldn’t do any damn good – what mattered was getting him off this ship and back to Lisa.

“Why else would you still be here, taking orders like a well-trained puppy?” He’d make Mick mad, if he had to. Mad was better than the shutdown he was going through now. “You’re not right in the head, Mick. That’s why I’m here – to set you straight.”

He turned back around at the edge of the door, prepared to continue the pacing, but Mick had looked away again. “Mick.” His partner didn’t respond, not even to tell him to shut up. “Damn it, M—“

Len cut himself off, swearing when he realized Mick could no longer hear or see him. Well, then he’d just have to figure out what the hell had happened and make sure it happened again.

They’d given him an in, and like any good thief he was going to run with it. He’d been idiotic enough to leave Mick to people who didn’t deserve him.

Now he just had to steal him back.


	2. Chapter 2

For a little while, he thought he’d actually gotten through to Mick. He took over the mission to get Stein and Sara back, declaring that it needed to be done “like a criminal,” and pulled a solid plan together on the fly. Amaya played bait, Mick came around with the heavy artillery, and the old wild light was back in his eyes. As dangerous as it could be, it was a hell of a lot better than the dead eyes he’d had before. He even got in a dig against Ray and the historian, which Len could absolutely appreciate.

And if Mick’s admonition to the duo that “partners have each other’s backs” made him choke up... well, it wasn’t like anyone could see it.

But then he sent Amaya off to hunt for the hostages on her own rather than keeping her as backup – which Amaya should have argued against, if she’d really been worthy of him – and Len realized that Mick was still operating somewhere beyond his usual recklessness. No matter how good he was, Mick couldn’t take on an entire gang by himself.

Len had a terrible feeling Mick knew that just as well as he did.

He concentrated hard on becoming visible, pulling on the self-recrimination he’d felt earlier when he’d accidentally appeared to Mick. Ghosts operated on regrets, didn’t they? In a dozen different ways, leaving Mick would always be his biggest.

He scouted ahead to the next corridor, which was thankfully empty, then leaned against the wall and waited for Mick to swing the gun around. “Watch where you point that thing.”

The same shock flashed across Mick’s face for a split second, but he collected himself faster this time. Clearly, he wasn’t all that happy to see him. “Snart.”

Well, that didn’t matter. “You shouldn’t be here, Mick,” Len warned. Not in this hallway, with no backup and only a ghost for company. “Capone’s men might be from 1927 but their bullets work just fine. Do you really want to risk your life for a skirt and a geezer?”

The sound of Amaya’s voice over the communicator cut off any response Mick might have given. “Any sign of the professor?”

As Mick gave his response, Len wondered if Amaya might be the explanation. Mick had always been better at playing hero than he gave himself credit for – he’d been Len’s hero for decades –and this sudden bout of recklessness might be Mick’s play to persuade Amaya to be his new partner. And unlike Ray, this one might actually work.

Until she dragged him into something too dangerous, and Mick once again tried to sacrifice his life for someone else on the team. Only this time, Len wouldn’t be there to take his place.

He couldn’t let it get that far. “Aw, sounds like a sweet little angel whispering in your ear,” he sneered. “Problem is, angels always want you to do the right thing, and doing the right thing gets you killed. I should know. Want to stay alive, best listen to the devil. Get out now.” The alarm went off. “Too late.”

Mick, of course, followed up this extremely sensible advice by charging Al _fucking_ Capone and an entire brace of gangsters while they were _firing_. He survived, by some miracle, then promptly hunted Amaya down and started _flirting_ with her over the whole “bad guy” thing. Amaya was responding as anyone with sense would when Mick Rory was genuinely flirting with them, and Len was letting himself imagine beating Amaya bloody when Mick pulled back from the hug she tried to give him and muttered something about being hungry.

Len wanted feel a vindictive satisfaction, but the truth was that he’d only hugged Mick a handful of times over their partnership (and in half of those, Mick hadn’t been entirely conscious. Every time he’d wanted to and hadn’t, every chance he’d let himself miss, burned like hell.)

The self-recrimination he needed was easy as he cornered Mick in the corridor. “What’s next Mick? Long walks on the beach, just the two of you?”

Mick just glared at him. “For a figment of my imagination you’re really beginning to be a pain in my ass.”

It was no surprise Mick still thought he was a hallucination – neither of them had ever believed in the afterlife. And convincing Mick that it wasn’t... well, it would probably take a conversation he was pretty damn sure Mick didn’t want to hear. “Look, I get it. She’s easy on the eyes, tough in a fight."

“She’s just a friend,” Mick snapped, and it was embarrassing how much Len wanted to be comforted by them. “The one friend I have, since my last friend _blew himself up_.”

That burned. The only reason he’d blown himself up was so that Mick wouldn’t, the sound of his partner calling him a hero ringing in his ears. This had to have been the explanation for it, he’d thought. The only thing that justified Mick – because that hadn’t been the current Mick, who’d still been in an intensive care unit at the time – coming back in time just to say something so impossible. He’d wanted to be Mick’s hero, even if it was only for a second.

And he was paying for that little fantasy, in spades. He’d handed his partner over to a group of people who didn’t deserve him, to a woman who smiled at him like he was hers, and it was all Len’s fucking fault. “Care for a little advice?” he snarled, forcing the conversation away from the sudden pain in his chest.

“From a dead guy? No.” Mick turned away.

Len, however, wasn’t finished yet. “Don’t let the new girl rope you into her death wish.” Mick stopped moving, hopefully because he recognized that Len had a point. He had to realize there were cute girls out there who wouldn’t get him killed. “This whole sacrificing yourself for your friends thing isn’t as fun as it sounds. Trust me.”

Mick turned around, but anything Len said beyond that exit line would only start a conversation he couldn’t handle right then. So, like a coward, he disappeared.

Of course, his dramatic exit didn’t last very long. The Stein the team had rescued turned out to be the homicidal speedster in disguise, the Waverider got boarded, and Mick figured out what was going on fast enough not to need a warning from Len. Of course, he immediately went and found Amaya, playing bait so she could have the chance to take out the guy who murdered her boyfriend. Of course, his plan to take care of the asshole was to play _bait_ and let Amaya hold the gun, which left them both knocked over, the speedster free, and Mick lucky not to be dead.

Amaya was oh so grateful, though, bringing him a bottle of booze she’d stolen from Capone’s warehouse. As gifts went it was pretty damn smart of her, and when she kissed him on the cheek and told him he wasn’t a bad guy Len had the deeply uncomfortable realization that, if he was at all a decent human being, he’d be happy for them both.

He wasn’t, but the self-recrimination was getting easier and easier to find by the second. “I hope it was worth it, all this for a kiss on the cheek and a cheap bottle of booze,” he said, watching Amaya leave. Mick didn’t say anything, just taking a swig of the stolen alcohol as his eyes slid away to somewhere else.

Len watched with an all-too-familiar ache in his chest. Mick was the one constant he’d ever had to rely on, the one thing he’d ever really let himself believe in. To steal a line from the man himself, Mick was the best man Len had ever known. The idea of a universe without him in it was unacceptable. “That speedster could have killed you, Mick,” he said, the ache making his voice go soft. “What then?”

Mick still didn’t say anything, and Len wondered if he was still pretending he couldn’t hear him. Then he set the bottle back on the counter, shoulders hunching as if whatever had been keeping him upright suddenly abandoned him. Seeing it, Len had the horrifying realization that he’d been misreading the situation entirely.

When Mick finally spoke, though, the words more a growl than anything, it was a thousand times worse. “I’ll be dead like you.” Not “I’d be dead like you,” a theoretical possibility. “I’ll” meant it was an actual plan, one he was still dedicated to.

He was still just as suicidal as ever. He was just getting better at hiding it.

Len reached for him, hand passing through his arm like it was nothing, and Mick tensed as if he could somehow feel it. “Damn it, Mick,” he snapped, hating himself enough at the moment that everyone in the entire ship could probably fucking see him. Some partner he was – he’d let himself be fooled just like everyone else. “You dying is _not_ a part of the plan.”

Mick’s head whipped back up. “Fuck your plans,” he growled. “You _left_ me.”

Then he turned and stomped out of the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

Len wasn’t about to leave it at that.

It was no trouble tracking Mick – Len could feel him no matter where he was, now,  a trick that would have been damned convenient back when he was alive – but it wouldn’t help him at all to have a screaming match where anyone could see it. He waited until Mick had shut the door to his room before appearing, the words he’d been holding onto bursting out before he was even sure Mick could see him. “What the hell did you expect me to do? It was me or you!”

“You should have let it be me,” Mick growled. “Would’ve been fucking easier for everybody.”

“Not for me, you _asshole_.” He was _dead_ , and the idea of having to be alive without Mick next to him was still horrifying enough to turn his chest into ice. “I know you were determined to get the hell away from me, but if my only options were being without you and being dead then I’m fucking _glad_ I’m dead.”

A spasm of pure pain crossed Mick’s face, and though he had no idea what he’d done Len immediately regretted whatever it had been. Then Mick scrubbed his hands across his face. “Fuck you. You’re not even real, anyway.”

“Oh, really?” Len snapped. It may have been logical for Mick to think he was a hallucination, but clearly that wasn’t helping Len’s case any. “When was the last time the inside of your head worried about making sure you stayed alive?” He flashed back to the fire that had caused the burns along Mick’s arms, the one that had broken up their partnership for a little while. He’d never been more terrified than when he’d dragged Mick out of that building, hoping desperately that his partner was still alive. “That’s always been my job.”

Mick started to snap something at him, and when he stopped himself Len wondered if he’d actually gained some ground. A second later, though, his expression settled into the one that always meant he’d just found a hole in Len’s plan. “Makes sense my brain would want me alive now.” He turned away, reaching into a drawer for another bottle of alcohol and taking a long drink. “Hurts more than dying would.”

Len knew from personal experience that a knife wound was less painful than hearing that from Mick. “That why you were never too worried about staying alive?” he said quietly.

Mick took another drink, deliberately not looking at Len. Then he dropped down into his chair, still holding onto the bottle. “It doesn’t matter,” he said finally, staring off at nothing. “Every shitty voice in my subconscious already knows everything I could say right now. Go ask one of them.”

“I _can’t_!” Len stalked forward, moving into position where Mick had to look at him. “I’m not a voice inside your head, Mick, I’m a ghost outside of it. It’s me.”

 Mick sneered. “Yeah? Prove it.”

“You know I can’t!” Len shot back. “Any shared bit of knowledge, you could claim I pulled it out of your head. Anything you _don’t_ know, you can’t call Lisa to confirm.”

Mick shrugged. “Sorry.” He took another drink. “Guess you might as well disappear and leave me to drink in peace.”

“I can't do that _either_!” Len threw his hands up in the air. “You keep trying to get yourself killed, and you basically just told me back in the kitchen that it’s on _purpose_. I can’t go anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay!”

“’Okay?’” Mick fixed him with an angry, incredulous look. “’Okay?’” He stood suddenly, looming even though he wasn’t really any taller than Len was. “I’m not going to fucking be okay, you asshole! You left me behind!”

They kept circling back to that, which Len didn’t understand. _He_ was the one who had lost the chance to be with Mick. What did Mick have to be upset about? “What do you care? You tried like hell to get away from me when we were both still alive. I just gave you your chance!”

“You’re the one who picked these assholes over me,” Mick growled. “I was just trying to get clear before you officially kicked me out.”

“I didn’t pick them over you!” Len shouted back, frustrated. He’d practically kidnapped Mick back from 2046. How the hell had he interpreted that as Len wanting to kick him out? “Just because we weren’t committing crime didn’t mean I didn’t want you _with_ me!”

“Don’t give me that. I’m shit at heroing, and pretty much everyone here knows it.”

Oh, he hadn’t forgotten about that, either. “That’s because they’re assholes who can’t see an inch in front of their faces. You’re more of a hero than all of them combined, and sure as shit more of a hero than me.”

Mick shot him a “You’ve got to be kidding me, look.” “Sure.”

“Oh, you don’t think so? You were going to die for Ray because you felt bad for the human puppy. I died for you because I didn’t want to _fucking_ live without you.” He could hear distant alarm bells ring in his head as the words fell out of his mouth, the secret he’d kept for so long suddenly making a run for it. “It was _absolutely_ fucking selfish of me.”

Mick’s expression went hard and furious. “ _Stop_. You and I both know the real Len would never have said shit like that.”

That threw Len enough that a shift in Mick’s expression made it clear that he’d blinked out of visibility for a second. He’d pictured Mick’s reaction to the truth a dozen different times over the years, but the idea that he wouldn’t even be _believed_ had never occurred to him.

The light slowly brightened somewhere to his right, and in the distance he thought he heard something that sounded like choir music. Len shifted so that his back was to the source of light, squinting when it got even brighter.

Mick clearly didn’t see it, looking around at the seemingly empty room before giving his head a good hard shake and taking another drink. At the door, there was a firm knock. “Mick?” Amaya called out. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Mick muttered, too low for Amaya to hear, then raised his voice. “Fine. Just trying a new therapy trick I read about.”

A moment of silence. “You’ll have to tell me if it works.”

He closed his eyes, looking pained. “I will.”

When they both heard the sound of her walking away, Len focused on his regrets and made himself re-appear. Slowly, the light behind him started to fade. “You’re wrong, Mick,” he snapped. “The real Len is _absolutely_ saying shit like that.”

Mick opened his eyes, looking disgusted. “When we watched something on TV, Snart would always complain when someone who could supposedly read a character’s mind did a shitty job handing out the temptations. He’d be annoyed as hell that a hallucination using his face would try to pass such obvious wish fulfillment as reality.”

“Oh, r—“ Whatever comeback Len had been about to make choked into silence as his brain processed what Mick had just said, then immediately shorted out due to shock. “Wish fulfillment?” he managed, the words unsteady. “Hearing me tell you I didn’t want to live without you is _wish fulfillment_?”


	4. Chapter 4

“Yeah.” Mick turned away, taking another drink from the bottle he’d never let go of. “So don’t try any of that ‘he was in love with me’ shit, either. It’ll only piss me off.”

 _Love?_ It was impossible to have a heart attack after you’d already died, but that was sure as hell what it felt like to Len. There was a pressure in his chest like someone was sitting on it, and leftover instinct kept making him try and draw breaths that wouldn’t come. His legs buckled, dropping him to his knees, as a pain worse than anything physical that had ever been done to him sliced right through the middle of him.

He was an _idiot_. He was a useless, _blind_ , good-for-nothing… there weren’t words descriptive enough for what he was. Mick… Mick had _wanted_ him to say….

He’d wasted so much time. He’d wasted so much of _everything_.

Somewhere above his head, he heard Mick’s voice. “Can’t think of anything to say to—” He stopped, shifting around until he was facing Len, and when he spoke again his voice was less antagonistic but a thousand times more wary. “Little over the top, don’t you think?” he muttered, the question uncertain. “I’ve never seen Snart that shocked, and I sure as hell don’t think that’s how I would have imagined it.”

Len closed his eyes, something burning in his throat that had equal chances of being a bitter laugh or a broken sob. He didn’t dare let go of it, not sure which it would be. “I’m sorry,” he whispered instead. “I’m so _damn_ sorry, Mick.”

There was only silence above his head, but Len knew he hadn’t faded. If regrets were really what let ghosts be seen, then he was probably in fucking high definition right now.

“I didn’t want this,” Mick said finally, the words angry with an edge of desperation running beneath the surface. “I don’t know what you think you’re trying to do, but whatever it is this isn’t going to fucking do the job. Go back to him mocking me. I don’t—” His voice cracked. “I don’t want to see this.”

Len opened his eyes, staring hard at the metal floor of the Waverider. He didn’t dare look up at Mick’s face. He had no idea what he’d do. “Well, you’re going to have to,” he snapped, his voice sounding like someone had taken a chainsaw to the inside of his throat. Anger, his oldest friend, rose up through the pain. Even though he was angry at himself more than anything, it was still the same strength it had always been. “Because I just found out that the man I’ve been in love with for most of my fucking useless life _wanted_ me to tell him, but since I went and got myself killed like a _moron_ the fact that I do isn’t going to do either of us any fucking _good_.”

As he said the last word he could see the light start up again out of the corners of his eyes, even brighter than before, and the choir music kicked in loudly enough he could tell it was a different song. Clearly, the afterlife thought he’d resolved whatever he’d stuck around for and needed to get moving beyond the way he was supposed to.

Well, they could kiss his ghostly ass. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Snart?” Mick sounded strangled. “What the hell is that?”

Len looked up to see his partner staring in utter shock at the light behind him. If they were making enough of a statement that living people could see it, too, then they must be getting serious. “Just ignore it,” he said, forcing himself to his feet and taking a step away from it to prove a point to whatever angel was no doubt glaring at him from the other side. “It’ll go away. It always does.”

“Snart.” The shock was still there, but tangled up with it was that familiar tone that said his partner was being an idiot. “It’s your _light_. If you don’t _use_ it, it might….”

The idea that Mick was more concerned about Len’s afterlife than he was made his chest ache. “I don’t care,” he swore, meeting Mick’s eyes. “If you were to pick out the three worst things I’ve ever done in my life, _every single damn one_ of them involved leaving you. I’m not doing it again.” Behind him, the light finally started to fade. “Not until you don’t need me anymore.”

Not ever. He knew that now, though he’d go see Lisa sometimes and stay invisible once he was sure Mick was okay. But sticking with Mick would be both better and worse than anything heaven or hell had to offer, and then afterward he’d follow him wherever the hell he went.

Mick just stared at him, the shock and confusion slowly melting into the most raw look Len had ever seen on him. “Len?” he asked finally, the word barely a breath.

Len felt his eyes fill, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. “Hi.”

Now Mick was the one who looked like he was having trouble breathing. He staggered backwards, only barely managing to drop back down into the chair rather than crash to the floor. Len, cursing his useless attempt to reach out and steady his partner, dropped back to his knees next to the chair. “Breathe, Mick,” he ordered. “It’s okay. All this means is that someone needs to pay Rabbi Meir the 20 bucks I apparently owe him.”

That startled a chuckle out of Mick, just like Len had intended, but it broke off when he sucked in a sharp breath. “How could you not have known?” Mick asked, his voice like broken gravel as he swiped a hand across his own suddenly wet eyes. “I would have followed you anywhere. I thought for sure you must have known.”

Len swallowed. “I was too busy scheming to keep you with me to see it,” he managed. “How did you not see _that_?”

“I was… hell, I don’t know. I thought the fact I always came when you called was obvious, so I assumed I must be a part of the plan rather than the thing you were trying to steal.” Mick reached out like he wanted to touch Len’s face, pulling his hand back at the last minute. “I’ve been yours since I was a teenage thug trying to burn out the rest of his life before he hit 18. Only reason I made it past that is because you wanted me to stick around.” His lips curved up a little, but it was a smile that ached. “It’s why I’ve been trying to go the hero route rather than something simpler. Thought if I went out the same way you did, there’d be a chance I'd end up wherever you were.”

“Mick.” This time Len was the one to reach for his partner, flinching back at the last minute. “I’m _here_ , with _you_. I’m not going _anywhere_ , which means you can’t, either.”

Mick’s “You’re an idiot” expression was somehow gentler than usual. “You can yell at me all you want when I’m a ghost, too.”

The pressure was back in Len’s chest, a mixture of love, frustration, regret and panic all trying hard to kill a dead man. He wanted Mick with him, yes, but Mick deserved to be alive, safe and happy a hell of a lot more than Len deserved what he wanted. Right now, though, Mick was convinced the only way he was ever going to be happy again was by being _dead_ , and Len didn’t have it in him to try and push Mick towards Amaya or anything else that might give him another reason to stick around. Whatever the stupid light thought, he wasn’t that good a person.

On top of that, it was Len’s fault Mick was trying so hard to get himself killed – if he’d just _thought_ for five minutes and come up with a way to destroy the Oculus where no one died, they wouldn’t be in this mess. If he was still _alive_ , then—

“I’ll find a body,” he said out loud, the words escaping before he could let himself think about how impossible the plan was. “I’ll find a body, and then I’ll technically be alive again. Which means you need to be alive, too, or we’ll be right back where we started.”

Mick, unsurprisingly, looked skeptical. “You’re dead, Len. You can’t just come back to life because you decide to.”

“First, we live in a world in which time travel, aliens and zombies are all a thing. Clearly, the rules are a hell of a lot more malleable than we’ve been led to believe. Second, I make no promises about _what_ body I’ll be able to get my hands on. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to haunt an android enough to make it work for me.” Carefully, he laid his hands on Mick’s knees, his partner shivering a little at whatever the contact felt like, and looked deeply into his eyes. “But this is my fault, and you have to promise me you’ll stay alive at least long enough for me to figure out a way to fix this.”

Mick just stared at him for a long moment, then nodded as he swiped a hand across his wet eyes again. “Damn it,” he said finally, the words a rasp. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

Len felt his eyes fill. “I’m starting to figure it out.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from the version of 2X09 that happened in my world (one chapter of a planned two-set based on the ep). I wouldn't have imagined a week ago that Stein would be the first character I'd end up trying to rehab, but I work with what I'm given.

It figured the first time Stein actually seemed to acknowledge Mick as a human being would also be in the _most_ annoying way possible.

“You tell anyone and I’ll kill you,” Mick threatened, grabbing the front of Stein’s shirt. It was hardly the first time they’d been overheard – Amaya was still shooting Mick concerned looks every time she thought Mick wasn’t looking – but Stein was the first who’d actually pushed the matter at all. Len, watching narrow-eyed with his arms folded across his chest, was torn between relief that someone was finally _fucking_ paying attention to Mick and the desire to punch Stein himself.

Not that Stein noticed, or could even see him. Apparently, all the regret in the world still only made a ghost visible to the people who mattered.

“I have no doubt you would,” Stein agreed, holding his hands up in the classic “don’t shoot” pose. “But I _also_ know that hallucinations are the sign of something significantly more serious than alcohol poisoning. While I am aware that regular medical check-ups have undoubtedly not been a part of your life, I _strongly_ suggest you have Gideon give you another brain scan.”

Mick let him go, still glaring. “What do you care? Wouldn’t brain damage just be par for the course for a dumb thug like me?”

Surprisingly, Stein looked faintly embarrassed at that. “I am aware that I have been... unfortunately dismissive in my estimations of your intelligence. As Jefferson would undoubtedly tell you in great detail, being sensitive to other people’s feelings has never been my strong suit.” At Mick’s snort, Stein inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Exactly. But it seems as though having a child, even retroactively, has made me... more aware of the needs of other people. And it strikes me, listening to you now, that you’ve been through more than possibly anyone else on this entire ship. And no one has bothered to follow up with any of it.”

Mick’s expression shifted. Not many other people could have read it, but Len could see that he’d been rattled. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Stein’s hand moved downward, as if considering doing something like patting Mick on the shoulder, then hesitated to hover in midair several inches from making contact. “I can do nothing to ease your grief, Mr. Rory,” he said finally, voice almost gentle. “Psychoanalysis was never my area of study, and I barely even qualify as a sympathetic ear. I didn’t even consider the possibility that you _might_ be grieving until you told me the shape your hallucinations had taken.” He took a deep breath, hand making contact with Mick’s shoulder as he met Mick’s eyes. “Science, however, I know. I promise you, no one will hear about your hallucinations from me. But I urge you to take the scan.”

Oh _hell_. The last thing Len wanted was to be on Stein’s side right then, but for Mick’s sake he had to be. “Let Gideon give you the scan,” he said finally, voice soft. “If nothing’s wrong, it’ll at least shut Stein up.”

Mick’s head twitched, like he’d stopped himself from turning his head to look at Len. He could practically feel the tension radiating off his partner, but after a few seconds his shoulders dropped and he took a step back. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Belatedly, Len realized that any kind of scan might remind Mick of being with the Time Bastards. “It’ll just be in and out,” Len soothed, resting his hand as close to the surface of Mick’s back as he could manage. Mick said he only felt a patch of coolness, but he said it comforted him. And, thanks to Len’s terrible decision making, it was all he could do right now. “Quick as our best heists. Nothing to worry about.”

Mick didn’t say anything – Stein was still in earshot – but he shifted back slightly into the contact. Len moved closer himself, wishing for things out of reach. “Everything will be fine.”

000

Everything was not fine.

000

“You have a _chip_ in your head, Mick.” Stalking wasn’t nearly as satisfying when your footfalls didn’t make any noise, but at the moment it was all he had. “Those assholes put a chip in your head, and the assholes we’ve been flying with for the last who _knows_ how long never _fucking_ noticed! Of _course_ we have to let Stein get it out!”

Blowing up the Time Bastards hadn’t been enough. If it was possible, Len would have gone back in time, frozen all their legs off with his ice gun, dug their eyes out with a spoon, and _then_ blown them up. No, that _still_ wouldn’t be enough.

Mick stayed sitting on the edge of his bed, expression like it was carved out of rock. “I’ve been fine with it in my head this long. I’ll be fine now.”

“Your definition of ‘fine’ is just as wildly unacceptable as it’s ever been!” Len shouted, flinging a hand in the general direction of the infirmary. “The bad guys we’re dealing with right now grabbed Rip Hunter, Asshole Time Master Supreme, and brainwashed him into thinking he’s some hack director from the 70s. _He_ didn’t have a chip in his head. If they grab _you_....” Fear, sharp and hot, sliced through him. “We can’t give them anything extra to work with, Mick. And that piece of _shit_ the Time Bastards left in your head is _damn well_ something they can work with!”

“I broke the Time Bastards’ brainwashing,” Mick ground out, clearly getting angry now. “I’ll break whatever these new assholes try to do to me. We’re leaving the damn chip right where it is.”

“No, we are _not_ ,” Len shot back, memories of the staring into Chronos’s eyes flooding through him. If Mick got in trouble again, Len wouldn’t be able to do anything. He was _helpless_ like this. “Damn it, Mick, I don’t see what the big deal is! Stein said he’d leave whatever the hell they’re doing with Rip long enough to help Gideon get the thing out! If they can re-grow my fucking hand, they probably won’t even have you under for very long. I don’t—“

“I don’t care about me!” Mick shouted, whatever had been holding him back suddenly snapping like a twig. He pushed himself to his feet, fists clenching. “I don’t want to stop seeing you!”

Len immediately went still. “You think the chip is reason you’re the only one who can see me,” he breathed. “Mick....”

“You don’t know that it isn’t,” Mick shot back. “If I could see ghosts all on my own, I would have seen my family haunting me for most of my fucking life. The only reason I get you is because of the chip in my head, and I will be _damned_ if I give that up just because everyone’s scared of some time-traveling wannabe mobsters.”

Apparently, there was no end to how many times your heart could break. Dead or not, it hurt like fucking hell each and every time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other chapter for 2X09

“Mick.” Len wasn’t used to feeling this shaky. He’d like to blame being dead for ripping through all his defenses like this, but the truth was that Mick Rory had always been his kryptonite. “The chip isn’t why you can see me.”

“You don’t know that,” Mick shot back, still braced for a fight.  “Usually I’m okay with you pretending like you know everything, but I can’t risk this. I won’t.”

Mick had also always been his weak spot as far as plans were concerned, at least when the plan was about Mick. Desperation made it hard to think clearly, and had caused Len to make any number of mistakes when it came to keeping Mick in his life.

He couldn’t let that happen now. “I’ve been following you since before you picked up the history nerd.” Len kept every hint of persuasiveness out of his voice, remembering how many times he’d spun a story around Mick. “The chip’s been in your head since before that, and no matter how hard you tried to get yourself killed there was nothing that would have done something to the chip. If that was what let you see me, you would have been able to from the very beginning.”

Mick’s expression turned fragile. “You’ve been here that long?”

Len’s throat went tight. “Second I could get back.”

Mick stepped closer, his gaze still locked with Len’s, and Len felt himself sway towards Mick like he was being pulled by a magnet. This was where they should have kissed, or held each other, or one of a thousand different options they could have had if Len had been just a little bit braver. If he’d managed to stay alive just a little bit longer.

Hell, he remembered reading somewhere, was a heaven that had come too late. Len would happily stay in hell if it meant he could be with his partner, but that didn’t mean he could torture Mick.

Len swallowed, making himself take a step back. “Besides, you know the old stories – ghosts come back because of unfinished business. As far as I can tell, the more I regret the more visible I am.” His jaw tightened. “Believe me, I won’t be disappearing again.”

Mick watched him as if he could hear everything Len wasn’t saying. “So when do you plan on your business being finished?” he asked finally, voice quiet.

“I told you – when you die.” He only realized what he’d said as soon as he said it, and he jabbed a warning finger at Mick. “Which had better not be soon, so we need to get that thing out of your head.”

Something raw flashed in Mick’s eyes. “And you won’t go anywhere?”

“I told you that, too – I’m never making that mistake again.” Len blinked hard against his suddenly stinging eyes. “And if getting that chip out fucks something up and makes it so you can’t see me anymore, I’ll just figure out how to make myself visible again.”

Mick let out a shaky breath. “You’re making me a hell of a lot of promises, Len.”

He was. And so far, he hadn’t managed to do much of anything – he’d only figured out after the fact how to make himself visible, and actually interacting with anything was still a complete wash. But now that he knew Mick needed him, failure simply wasn’t an option. “The only two things that ever really mattered to me are you and Lisa. To keep you, I’ll break reality itself if I have to.”

Mick stared at him, hard, then gave a short, sharp nod. “Fine.”

Relief shot through Len. “Go tell Stein you’ll do it.” But Mick’s eyes were still too grim, already preparing for the end, and the relief immediately vanished. He felt, somehow, like he’d failed one of the only two people who’d ever made Len’s life worth living. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Mick didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then his shoulders dropped. “You’re always sure your plans will work,” he said finally, sitting back down on the bed. “Doesn’t mean they will.”

Guilt scraped its claws through Len, love making them all the sharper. “Okay,” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath. “If you want, the chip stays.”

Mick’s head shot up. “What?”

The sheer surprise on Mick’s face was a sharper pain than the guilt had been. “You don’t want the chip out, we won’t take it out.” He moved closer without meaning to, intangible fingers lifting to smooth over Mick’s head. He’s always wondered what it felt like, and now he’d never know. “I’ve hurt you enough, Mick. Never again.”

Mick just stared at him, a thousand different emotions swirling in his eyes, and eventually he let out a breath. Mick pushed himself to his feet, heading to the door. Len didn’t move, just staring at him, and Mick stopped and turned around. “Coming?”

Len was frozen. “You said you didn’t want to.”

Mick shot him a reckless look. “You want this bad enough to admit you might not be right, you want it badly enough to fuck up time and space to come back to me.” He jabbed a warning finger at Len. “So you’d better fucking pull this off.”

Len swallowed, nodding. “Of course.”

Mick opened the door. “Then you’d better come on. I’m sure as shit not doing this alone.”

000

The surgery was well on its way. Stein was serving as Gideon’s hands while the AI gave instructions, Mick was safely out, and Len was pacing back and forth on the other side. He watched Mick’s and Stein’s faces more than the image display, knowing they’d be a better indicator if something actually went wrong.

At one point, he heard Sara’s voice from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?” He turned around to see her and Jax staring at the impromptu brain surgery, clearly on their way to the next stage of whatever in the hell they were doing with Rip.

Stein shot them both an imperious look. He’d been surprisingly good at keeping Mick’s secret. “Brain surgery. What does it look like?”

Given the way they’d treated Mick since Len had died, he half expected that to be the end of it. But Sara looked conflicted for a moment, then glared at Stein. “We’re not done with this,” she warned him, shooting an unreadable look at Mick before disappearing down the corridor.

Jax stayed behind, looking torn. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Gray?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried.

Stein’s expression softened. “What I don’t know, Gideon does. Mr. Rory will be fine.”

Jax hesitated a moment longer, shooting Mick an openly worried look, then hurried off after Sarah. Watching Mick’s face, Len let out a breath. “You’d better be right, Stein,” he warned.

Stein hesitated, ear cocked as if he’d suddenly heard something. Then, shaking his head, he returned to the surgery.

000

Finally, it was time for Mick to open his eyes. Stein and Gideon slowly brought him up out of unconsciousness, and he blinked up into the harsh lights of the med bay. “Welcome back, Mr. Rory,” Stein said. “The surgery was a success. Hopefully, your hallucinations are a thing of the past.”

Awareness shot into Mick’s eyes, along with the edge of panic, and for a second Len’s heart was in his throat. Then their gazes locked, and the tension drained out of Mick instantly. Len was so relieved he had trouble staying upright for a second. “Thanks, Doc,” Mick said, voice a rasp as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Stein helped him to his feet. “Any time.”

Len resisted the urge to blink straight back to Mick’s quarters, staying in sight the whole way back. Once they’d closed the door, Mick sagged back against the wall. “We have to be more careful,” he told Len, looking at him like he was the best thing he’d ever seen.

 Len was sure he had the same look in his eyes. “I love you,” he breathed. “I love you so damn much.”

“Yeah.” Slowly, Mick’s lips curved up. “I’m starting to figure that out.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, though Stein and Lily were adorable in 2X10, I liked almost nothing about Mick's characterization or interactions in the ep. This is how it happened in my version of reality.

Everyone else on the Waverider gathered around the control panel, apparently hoping to generate enough brain power between them to figure out a way to save Rip. Mick was standing off to the side, eating the donut he’d brought from his quarters and pretending there wasn’t a ghost next to him. Len stayed close, in just the right position that Mick could see him out of the corner of his eye.

Sara looked like she was about to start the meeting, then stopped and realized she’d forgotten something. “So?” She turned to Mick, making an impatient “give it to me” gesture at him. “Brain surgery?”

Len watched everyone else at the impromptu “war table,” privately making a list of who he’d have to give hell to the moment he figured out how. Stein had no reaction, of course, but he was exempt from this particular test. Jax’s worry flooded back, the history nerd just looked interested, and Ray looked both worried and guilty. Not worried or guilty _enough_ , in Len’s opinion.

Amaya looked flat-out alarmed. “Brain surgery?” She left the table, moving towards Mick. “If you were injured, why didn’t you say anything?”  

Mick shrugged. “Stein took care of it.”

Sara glared over at Stein. “Why did he need brain surgery?”

Stein gestured back at Mick. “Explanations should be left to Mr. Rory, if he chooses to give them. The matter has been taken care of.”

Jax shifted uncomfortably. “There’s no shame in having something wrong with you, Mick,” he said finally. “I know I say shit about you being stupid, but that’s....” He stopped, shaking his head. “Concussions are a thing, and you’ve probably had a hell of a lot worse than that.”

Mick flicked his eyes over to Len, then looked at the rest of the team. “Leftover shit from Chronos,” he said finally. “Like I said, it’s been handled.”

Everyone who’d actually met Chronos turned solemn for a moment, while Amaya and the history nerd only looked more confused. “If there are any complications, let me know,” Sara said finally, the words slightly softer than her usual order. She couldn’t quite meet Mick’s eyes, but she was immediately back in “general” mode as she turned back to everyone else. “Now, I need ideas on how we’re going to stop the speedster and his allies—“

“Actually, the Legion of Doom has a sexier—“

“I’m not calling them that.” She paused only long enough to glare at the history nerd before returning to what she’d been saying. “As I was saying, we need to figure out how to stop them and rescue Rip.”

Cue the arguing.

“Reminds of that job in Gotham,” Len murmured, glancing over at Mick. “If only we had Harley and her mallet around.”

Mick’s lips curved upward briefly before he straightened. “You’re all idiots.”

Everyone turned to him. “Oh, really?” Jax shot back. “I don’t see you even _trying_ to think of anything, mastermind.”

Mick’s smirk flickered again. “That’s because the plan’s obvious. Fake like you’re gonna swap the medallion for Rip, then double-cross them.” At the matching surprised looks from everyone – definitely another thing to be annoyed at them all for – he shrugged. “Bad guy 101.”

“If it really is ‘bad guy 101,’” Stein asked, “won’t they be expecting it?”

Mick shrugged. “From other bad guys, yeah. Not you hero types.”

“Mostly because you’re all idiots,” Len added.

Everyone started nodding. “You know what?” Sara said. “That actually might work.”

“If we can figure out how to activate the medallion,” Amaya chimed in.

“I have an associate who might be able to help with that....” Stein said, but when Mick moved Len stopped listening to the rest of it.

Len followed Mick into the corridor. “Don’t want to babysit them through the rest of the plan, ‘Mastermind’?” he said, once they were safely out of everyone else’s hearing range.

Mick flashed a genuine grin this time, shaking his head. “Nope. I’ll wander out if they get really desperate, but if they’re not even gonna ask I don’t see any reason to volunteer.” His expression softened briefly. “Besides, throwing myself in the line of fire isn’t as big a thing for me as it used to be.”  

Len’s chest tightened with a rush of love. “Good.”

000

He and Mick did wander back out to hear the news that Stein’s daughter was apparently a time aberration, a fact which seemed to alarm various people but didn’t bother Len in the slightest. You grabbed what you could, whether your father was an abusive asshole or your younger self was a moron. If that happened to be a whole daughter, then so be it.

It wasn’t really an issue until later, when there was a knock on the door to Mick’s quarters. When he opened it there was a woman Len had never seen on the other side, a definite science type who’d inherited more of her dad’s facial structure than she probably enjoyed at times. “Mr. Rory?” she asked. “Can I come in?”

Mick stared down at her, baffled. “Why?”

She looked up and down the corridor, then back at Mick. “Because everyone on this ship except for my dad is looking at me like I’m an alien from another planet, and they won’t tell me why. But from the way my dad describes you, you’re not the kind of person who worries about tiptoeing around someone.” She took a deep breath. “Tell me the truth. Please.”

Shit. Mick didn’t stop himself from looking over at Len, who help up his hands in a “what can you do?” gesture. Telling the truth would cause trouble, but he knew how much Mick hated being lied to. Technically, they were doing the same thing to the kid. “Up to you,” he told Mick. “There’s good and bad on both sides of this.”

Mick’s jaw tightened as he looked back down at Stein’s daughter. “There is something,” he said finally. “But you should get your dad to tell you.”  

Her expression turned fragile for a second. “Dad knows?”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Mick reassured her, his voice the same comforting rumble he’d used on both Len and Lisa before. “A little weird, maybe, but not bad. Your dad’s the best person to talk to you about this.”

She swallowed, then nodded. “Okay.” She hesitated a second, then gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

Only after she’d disappeared from the corridor completely did Mick shut the door, scrubbing his hand across her face. “Damn it.” He sighed. “I shoulda just stayed out of it.”

“She knew she was being lied to.” Len couldn’t stop himself from trying to touch Mick’s shoulder. “Better she gets it from her dad than someone else.”

“But it’s Stein,” Mick argued. “He’s shit at feelings.”

“When you love someone, you forgive them for being shit at things.” Len smiled a little. “After all, we’re still together.”

Mick’s expression finally relaxed. “Yeah, there’s that.”  


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of two chapters I have for 2x11. The fic is kind of self-indulgent nonsense by this point, but hey - no one's yelled at me yet.

"Mick." Ray intercepted them from the other corridor, radiating enough earnestness that something _really_ annoying was probably about to come out of his mouth. "Can... I talk to you about something?"

Len rolled his eyes. "Remind me why you haven't dropped him off a cliff yet?"

A smirk flickered briefly on Mick's face before he nodded at Ray. "You need something?"

Ray winced. "Yeah. To apologize." His shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry I just...." He held out his hands. "After the whole thing with Snart's coat, and the cold gun, I knew how upset you were and I just... I thought it was best if I made it so you didn't have to see me for a little while. Somehow that turned into a long while, and I just..." Ray sighed, meeting Mick's eyes. "I'm sorry. For everything."

Shit. It wouldn't be quite as fun to insult Ray anymore now. Still, he wasn't about to let him get away with a simple "I'm sorry" after all the shit he put Mick through.

Especially since Mick already had, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. "Don't worry about it," he said, voice recognizably gentle to anyone who knew him well enough. "I'd already figured out you weren't enough of a reason to stay alive. Not much you could have done."

There was no accusation in the words, not even a flicker of a glance in Len's direction, but Len still winced the same way he always did when he was reminded of just how badly he’d fucked up by dying. At least the light had stopped showing up, clearly having gotten the hint that Len’s business here was sure as shit not done.

Ray, for his part, just furrowed his brow like some sort of worried cocker spaniel. “You were suicidal? I didn’t—“ Slow understanding filled his face. “Snart?” Mick tensed, nodding, and the understanding switched over to something that looked almost like horror. “You and— And I just—“ He scrubbed his hands across his face. “I didn’t know.” He sounded appalled at himself. “It’s no excuse, but I didn’t know.”

Mick was still tense, glancing over at Len, but all he could do was shrug his shoulders. He had no idea what was going on, either.

Ray, still caught up in whatever he’d realized, half reached out toward Mick before pulling his hand back. “I won’t ask if you want to talk about it, because it never seemed to help me. The only way I got functional again was to lock myself in the lab for six months, and I don’t think that’s really going to be an option for you.” He made a helpless gesture. “But if you ever do want to talk, I... know what it’s like to not want to wake up anymore because the person you love is gone.”

Memory hit Mick before it did Len. “That fiancée of yours,” he rumbled. “Anna.”

“Yeah, Anna.” Ray’s expression got soft and sad for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you felt that way about Snart.” He touched his shoulder, looking serious. “If I did, I never would have....”

“It’s okay.” Mick patted Ray’s shoulder. “I’m not exactly an open book.”

“Which is okay.” Ray nodded, looking solemn. “Whatever you need from me, Mick. I’m here.”

Finally, Ray continued on down the corridor, and Mick and Len watched him go.  “You know you can talk to me, too, right?” Len said finally, voice soft and less certain than he would have liked it to be.

Mick glanced over at him. “I nearly told him he shouldn’t feel bad for not seeing it, because you didn’t see it, either.” His lips quirked. “But I was  pretty sure he’d start crying or something, and I wasn’t really prepared to deal with that.”

Len met his eyes, something in his chest easing. “It’s not like you noticed, either.”

Mick’s smile widened briefly. “So we’re all idiots.”

000

Unfortunately, the timeline almost immediately got screwed up again. Apparently, someone assassinated George Washington, and though it was _obviously_ a trap the team was, inevitably, going to leap right into it. Mick looked completely unconcerned, chewing on one of his cache of donuts and going off on a riff about how Washington was a punk because was only on the $1 bill. Len, who had once listened to Mick give a 10-minute lecture to some snotty British fence about the superiority of the American rebels’ guerrilla tactics, smirked and enjoyed watching him wind up the history nerd.

“Now, Benjamin Franklin, that guy knew what he was doing.” Mick shot the kid his best shit-eating grin. “You have to respect a guy who can manage to stick his face on a C-note.”

The history nerd leaned forward. “Benjamin Franklin was an impressive figure, but—

“Nate.” Sara cut in, shooting Mick a look that told him to behave. She would have never held his heart, but in a world where Mick didn’t love him they could have had fun. “You do know Rory’s winding you up, right? He’s just trying to get a reaction out of you.”

The history nerd faltered, shifting his stance. “Sure. Right.”

She turned his attention back to the group. “Now, can we get back to saving the American Revolution?”

Mick got volunteered as a private, which meant a trip to the fabricator for a period costume. He took it back to his room to change, eyeing the wig like it was about to bite him. “You think I can get away without this?” he asked Len.

“I think you’d better, or I’m not going to be able to resist joking about it the entire time you’re trying to save the world,” Len said dryly. “Though you’d better be careful – I might start developing a thing for a man in uniform.”

“Hah hah.” Then Mick stopped, looking faintly pleased. “Really?”

Shit. He hadn’t exactly meant to say the last part out loud. “Shut up.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “What can I say? I’m prejudiced.”

Mick didn’t push it, but there was a real grin on his face as he started changing. “So, you staying here or coming with me?”

This was much safer territory. “With you, always,” Len said immediately. “I haven’t been more than three feet away from you since I got back. I haven’t even gone to see Lisa.”

That made Mick pause. “Seriously?”

Len shrugged. “What if something happened while I was gone, or I couldn’t get back? Besides, she’s fine without me.” He paused, realizing something when he noticed the faint guilt in Mick’s eyes. “I assume you haven’t told her yet.”

Mick hesitated. “No.” He looked down. “I couldn’t face her.”

“Hey,” Len said softly, ducking his head to meet Mick’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have either, in your place.” It was true, though he hated that it made Mick feel he couldn’t go to Lisa for help. He was family, too, and he had no doubt that Lisa would have welcomed him without hesitation. She would have known that Len’s death was his own damn fault. “Though I will expect you to help me fill in the details when I show up with whatever body I’ve managed to hijack.”

Mick’s expression eased. “Sure.” Then he held up the breeches. “Now, help me figure out how to put on these damn pants.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of 2x11. As Len had to be at Mick's side the whole time, I couldn't address the "It was implied" lines. If you're curious, assume that in this version of reality Stein didn't say it and Nate still did (because Nate is an ass).

****Unsurprisingly, everything went to shit pretty quickly.

Len didn't count the gunfight in Washington's party - that was pretty normal, at least for them, and back when he could join in Len had always enjoyed a good gunfight. Besides, now that the pyromania seemed to be staying down to manageable levels, it was always a real thing of beauty to watch Mick roast some assholes where they stood.

But then Rip, of all people, intercepted their escape route. Evil!Rip, naturally, suggesting that the Legion of Doom or whatever in the hell they were calling the latest supervillain team-up was a lot more competent at brainwashing people than the Time Bastards were. If Len still slept it would no doubt give him nightmares – the idea of Mick falling into their hands was just about the worst thing he could think of – but right now he had more immediate things to worry about.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” Mick growled, trying to keep Sara from collapsing to the ground. It was a gut shot, a slow, lingeringly cruel way to die that Len was pretty damn sure had been entirely intentional. This was more than brainwashing – this was either someone different wearing Rip’s face, or there was nothing left to save.

“On the contrary, nothing has ever been more right.” Rip touched Sara’s face. “If anything, you and I are a bit more alike now, aren’t we?”

Okay, now it was definitely time for homicide. Len lunged for him, concentrating all his mental energy on having _some_ kind of physical presence that would do something unpleasant to Rip Hunter. All he got for his trouble was a shiver, immediately ignored, but he could possibly do some damage if he could figure out how to stay in constant contact. A slow, annoying way to die, maybe, but he’d take what he could—

Except the Redcoats were dragging Mick in the opposite direction, right along with Washington, and there was no question in Len’s mind about where he belonged. So he followed the Redcoats, trying to see what the hell he could do to any of them while Mick and Washington talked about the rules of war. Which was right, technically, but if they were working with Rip Hunter, Sociopath Edition, he was pretty sure they weren’t going to worry about that.

So, testing. Rip had shivered, so Len decided cold was his best chance. Following one particular Redcoat that had been a little too excited to jab Mick, Len stuck his hand into the center of the guy’s chest and concentrated all of his thoughts on radiating cold. Every ounce of hate and numbness he’d ever felt, the burning ice of his cold gun, the chill of fear....

The soldier’s breath started coming harder, shoulders hunching, and his body broke into fine tremors. When he stopped moving, clutching his chest, the entire group briefly stopped moving with him. As attacks went it was slow enough to be mostly useless, but at least it was fucking _something_.

Mick turned around, meeting Len’s eyes with an interested expression and Len raised an eyebrow. After a second, Mick gave an infinitesimally small shake of his head, and Len pulled his hand out of the guy’s chest.  He was right – Washington wasn’t in the right headspace to break out at the moment, and it would be easier with him as a partner rather than deadweight.

Unfortunately, not even the inevitable execution order was enough to persuade Washington – though the fact that he argued for Mick’s life earned him a hell of a lot of points in Len’s book – so he’d have to be persuaded.

“The British may be dishonorable, but I am not.” Washington’s expression was stoic, proving for the hundred thousandth time that honor was a concept meant exclusively for idiots. “By my death I will prove to the Crown what it means to be an American.”

“You don’t know the first thing about being an American,” Mick countered, and Len recognized the tone in his voice. Washington was about to get some version of the speech that had once made a 77-year-old former history teacher turned master forger burst into tears and hug Mick. “We’re misfits, outcasts, and we’re proud of it. If they attack in formation you pop them off from the trees. If they challenge you to a duel you raid their camp at night. And if they’re going to hang you you fight dirty and you never, ever give up. That’s the American way.” The gleam was back in Mick’s eyes. “What’s it gonna be, George?”

Len couldn’t resist the urge to slow clap, knowing only Mick would hear him. “That was beautiful,” he said, the pride obvious in his voice. He hardly ever did it, but when he wanted to Mick Rory could work a room with the best of them. “One of these days I’m going to get you to give that speech in some sort of classroom, then sit back and watch you blow all their tiny little minds.”

Of course, Washington said yes. At that point, anyone in their right mind would have.

000

“You won’t have to worry about priming the gun,” Len said, coming to stand next to Mick the morning of the hanging. “Your little guard over there already has it ready to go, so he can ‘take you down single-handedly’ on off chance you try something.” He shook his head with a sigh. “Kids these days. So delusional.”  

Mick smirked, but didn’t say anything. Cornwallis, on the other hand, was already delivering the line they’d all been waiting for. “Any last words?”

Washington, up on the gallows, actually looked pleased to be delivering his line. “In fact, I’ve learned a new word from my private.” Mick swung onto action, punching out the guard and grabbing his gun. As he shot the gunpowder store, Washington added the rest of his dialogue. “Kaboom.”

The fight exploded. Len knew he couldn’t do much at the speed that was needed, so he focused on split-second distractions while Mick and Washington punched and tackled their way through the British army. They were actually doing pretty well until Mick had to stop to help George up, and some asshole got Mick dead in his sights. Len moved without thinking, focusing every ounce of cold he could will into being into the center of the guy’s chest. It wouldn’t have been nearly enough on its own, but as he flinched Mick grabbed the barrel of the gun and yanked it out of his hand. Flipping it around, he hit the soldier in the face.

Len met his eyes, unable to stop himself from grinning. “Not feeling suicidal this morning?”

Mick could only grin back in response, but it was enough.

Then, unfortunately, Amaya and the history nerd ran up just a few seconds too late to be at all useful. Nate looked around, clearing his throat. “We were totally coming to rescue you,” he said, not quite meeting Mick’s eyes. “You know that, right?”

Mick just shrugged and walked past him. “Sure.” Washington, thankfully, took a few moments to shoot the nerd a look of pure disgust – Len was really starting to like the future president – while Amaya stood by silent and looking guilty and embarrassed as hell.

“You should be,” Len snapped at her, even though she couldn’t hear. Then he pointed at the history nerd. “And you, asshole, better hope I don’t figure out how to give people a cold-induced heart attack.”

000

There was still clean-up to do, of course. Washington earned a thousand extra points in Len’s book by calling Mick “the best of what our new nation can be,” and Jax and Sara both lost a few by not realizing they could have just shot Rip in the fucking kneecaps. Then there was a Christmas party for some unfathomable reason, where Ray presented Mick with a pet rat (and apologized for it not being a puppy) and various members of the team expressed an appropriate amount of jealous admiration over the fact that Mick now had a statue in his honor and none of them did.

Also, Amaya and the history nerd had a whisper fight over the fact that they were apparently napping and having sex while they should have been saving Mick. Amaya was appalled at both of them. History nerd, apparently, still deserved to die.

“I can kill him if I figure out how, right?” Len asked, pacing back and forth while Mick fed the newly christened Axel pieces of cheese-filled sandwich crackers from his snack collection. “He doesn’t really contribute much to the team, does he?”

“Don’t kill him.” Mick sounded amused, holding up another piece of cracker to the little rat. “Mess with him all you want, but don’t actually kill him.”

“You’re too nice.” Len glared in the general direction of the history nerd’s quarters. “You don’t even care that he and Amaya are suddenly a thing?”

“No.” Mick looked genuinely confused as he looked up at Len. “Why should I?”

That stopped Len short. “I thought the two of you were getting... closer... for awhile there.” At Mick’s continuing confusion, Len got defensive. “She stole alcohol for you! And she kept giving you these _looks_....”

Slowly, Mick started to grin. “You sound jealous.”

“I don’t... that’s not....” Len sighed at Mick’s knowing look. “Yes. Wildly, and often. Shut up.”

Mick’s grin lingered as he carefully scooped up Axel and set the rat on his shoulder. “I won’t say a word.”

Len felt himself softening. “No, what you should talk to me about his how we’re going to steal your statue out of D.C. We’ll put a copy back up so everyone can bask in your historical significance, but I want the original for our living room.” Mick chuckled, and Len’s lips curved up. “I know you think I’m kidding, but I’m 100 percent serious. Of course, we’ll have to acquire a living room, first, but I’m willing to take this plan a step at a time.”

This time, Mick gave him a full-on laugh. It was a beautiful sound. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who wants to write fic beating the shit out of Stein (and to a lesser degree, Jax) for their behavior towards Mick in 2X12, I will applaud you and hold your coats while you do it. But in my fic, it's far simpler to have them behave like human beings, the same way the fucking shithead writers should have done in the damn show in the first place.

Len always preferred when Mick stayed on the ship rather than wandering around in whatever time the Waverider crew was causing trouble in. Yes, the scenery wasn’t as interesting, but Mick was the only scenery that had ever really mattered to Len. And no matter how annoying the rest of the crew got, there were inevitably fewer people onboard wanting to shoot or stab Mick than there was off.

Unfortunately, though, it wasn’t _completely_ safe.

“These components appear to be a set,” Stein held up the pieces, still trying to justify his theft from Dr. Midnite’s lab. “Transmitter and receiver.”

Jax immediately jumped on his train of thought. “Or commander and soldier.” Mick was just watching, like he used to watch cartoons to piss off whatever wannabe criminal overlord who felt he wasn’t paying enough attention. The fact that he could always repeat the plan perfectly when asked always pissed them off even more. Len, as always, watched Mick.

“Exactly!” Stein said. “The commander wears the transmitter, sending orders via electrotelepathic signal to the soldiers who are wearing the receiver.”

Jax nodded. “And any signal can be hacked.”

“By us, ideally.” Stein sounded like he was sliding into professor mode now. “Now, all we need is a superior brain and a willing test subject.”

Len tensed at the words “test subject,” already too damn sure he knew where this conversation was going. “Try it,” he said out loud, knowing Mick would hear him even if Stein couldn’t, “and I’ll stop your heart. I don’t give a shit.”

Mick glanced over at him, expression unreadable, but Jax didn’t seem to have caught the drift in the conversation. “I’m guessing you’re the superior brain,” he said sarcastically.

“If you insist.” Stein sounded so _damn_ cocky. “Now, all we need is a test subject.” He looked past Jax to Mick, making Len get up and stalk towards the old man. “Mr. Rory, I don’t suppose you’d—

Lucky for Stein, Jax got to him first. “Gray!” He slapped Stein on the arm, sounding horrified. “He’s been _brainwashed_. You can’t ask him to let you start driving him around – it’ll bring back all the other traumatic shit.”

There was a moment where Len thought he might actually have to let people live, when Mick spoke. “It’s fine, kid.” The words were addressed to Jax, but his eyes were firmly on Len for just long enough to make it clear who he was really talking to. “Give it here.”

Stein stepped forward, clearly eager to die. “See? He’s aware it’s all in the name of science.”

Jax turned back to Mick, looking concerned. “You don’t have to do this. I’m used to having his voice in my head trying to order me around.”

Mick’s expression gentled. “I said it’s fine, kid.”

“It’s not fucking _fine_ , Mick,” Len shot back. “This asshole doesn’t get to pull up your old trauma for some asinine _science experiment_.”

Mick met Len’s eyes again, this time with a smirk. “If he can pull it off,” he said, shifting to meet Stein’s eyes in obvious challenge.

Stein still didn’t realize what he’d just gotten himself into. “It’s hardly a fair battle, Mr. Rory. My IQ is—“

“You’re right,” Mick cut him off, the confidence in his expression making some of the tension in Len’s gut ease. He knew who he’d bet on, if he could. “It’s not fair. But let’s see if you can pull it off anyway.”  

000

Spoiler alert – he couldn’t.

“You should have bet him,” Len muttered to Mick, walking next to him as they followed Jax and Stein to the bridge. “Someone needed to make some money off the fact that he’s a fucking idiot, and unfortunately right now that can’t be me.”

Mick just smirked. “Guess you shouldn’t have died, huh?” he breathed, low enough no one else would hear him.

Len made an exasperated noise. “You’re going to hold that over me forever, aren’t you?”

Mick’s smirk widened.

000

As they always seemed to, things went from bad to worse. Sara pushed them to leave Ray with the rest of the knights, Mick said no, and there was nearly a smackdown. Len was fully ready to jam his fist into Sara’s heart just long enough to throw her off – he didn’t give a shit about Ray, but it was his job to back Mick up – but thankfully the rest of the team finally got off their asses and stepped up.

 Then Jax had an idea.

Stein looked appalled when Jax handed Mick the transmitter. “Jefferson, I’m the one who needs—“

“Listen, Gray.” Jax held his hands up in an appeasing gesture, but he didn’t try to take the transmitter back from Mick. “We all know you’re really smart, but Mick actually broke himself out of brainwashing. Twice. That’s the kind of brain the knights need right now.”

Stein still looked offended. “I am perfectly capable of providing the kind of focus needed to operate this successfully, and I’m sure my—“

Mick, who had already put the transmitter on, cut him off with his “you people are all idiots” voice. “Professor, put the dog collar on.”

Stein put the receiver on, still complaining. “I have more patents than Mr. Rory has felonies. If you’ll just give me a moment I’m sure I can—

Mick rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Stein immediately went silent, lips pressed together, and Jax’s eyes widened. “Wait, did you shut up because you wanted to, or because you told him to?” He looked back at Mick, clearly already knowing the answer to his question. “Make him answer.”

Mick smirked. “Answer the man, Professor.” Then his expression gentled again. “Once you do, you can take the dog collar off.”

Stein’s mouth immediately relaxed. “I think we all know the answer to Jefferson’s question,” he snapped, ripping off the transmitter. His shoulders sagged. “I would have been able to make it work eventually.”

Mick’s expression, roughly translated, said something along the lines of “I am kindly not pointing out how wrong you are.” Len had seen it pointed in his direction more than once. “With someone else? Sure.”

While the faceoff with Stein had been both entertaining and oddly satisfying, watching Mick settle into the chair was not.

“I need you to unleash the darkness on those brainwashed nights,” Jax ordered, settling the headpiece around Mick’s head. If he could figure out how to shoot people when he needed to, he might just make a good enough captain to take over from Sara for awhile and let her sort out the “mission at all costs” bug that seemed to have eaten her brain. “Give them all the stuff you hold back.”

“Every traumatic memory.” Stein leaned forward, sounding urgent. “Every ounce of anger, every moment of helplessness.”

“That might just be enough to overwhelm the system.” He nodded at Mick, taking a step back. “Spare nothing.”

Mick met Len’s eyes. “Give them everything,” Len said softly. “Show them just how brave you are to still be standing.”

Mick’s eyes went soft for just a moment, then his expression hardened into the one that meant he was about to wade into a fight. A flicker of a smirk crossed his face. “Poor babies.”

The brainwashing crumbled within moment. According to Ray and everyone else that had been on the field, there had been a lot of collapsing and head clutching. There were even a few screams.

Len wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

000

“Mr. Rory.”

Both Len and Mick stopped at the sound of Stein’s voice behind them in the corridor. Len tensed, ready to give him a cold shock if he so much as _thought_ something insulting about Mick, but Mick didn’t even seem tense. “Yeah?”

Stein hesitated. “I... apologize.” He glanced away, then back at Mick. “I was aware of the potential medical implications of your interactions with the Time Masters, but I didn’t understand the... scope of the psychological implications.” He lifted his hands helplessly. “I was in the hands of a trusted associate for a mere moment, and it was still unspeakably terrifying. I cannot even begin to imagine what it was like for you in the Time Masters’ hands.”

Len flinched, like he always did at the memory of it. Mick just looked solemn. “Believe me, you don’t want to.”

Stein nodded, expression shifting back into its usual confidence. “Now, don’t expect me to say this again, and if you tell anyone else I will deny it with my dying breath, but....” He sketched a bow in Mick’s direction. “I bow before the superior brain.”

Mick gave a regal nod, then watched as Stein walked away. “Does he forget Gideon records everything?” Len asked, amused.

Slowly, Mick’s smirk edged back. “I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost immediately after this, of course, everything goes to shit again. But we'll worry about that next week.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miraculously, 2X13 didn't make me feel like I had to murder people in Mick's honor (other than Stein, of course, but worry tends to make him even more of an asshole than he already is normally, and Mick pretty effectively put him in his place all on his own). But there's one point I felt like they didn't sufficiently address, so I wrote this scene (set just after the episode ends).

Now that no one was dying or evil, story time inevitably erupted among the Waverider inhabitants. Rip had disappeared again, no doubt to brood on his latent homicidal tendencies in peace, which meant Jax had free reign to describe the fights with the evil doppelgangers and breaking Rip out of his mental prison. Mick listened to the entire thing with the same look on his face that he used to get when they talked about some of their less pleasant prison stays.

No one else seemed to notice – big surprise there – but Len couldn’t stop thinking about the casual way Mick had talked about the Time Bastards invading his head constantly. He had nightmares about what they’d done to him after Len had left him on that planet, filling what little sleep he’d gotten from the moment he’d gotten Mick back to the moment he’d blown up with the Oculus. He didn’t sleep anymore, but he could still imagine it all too clearly.

The guilt for his part in putting Mick into their hands would be with him for the rest of eternity.

Mick slipped away when talk turned to dinosaurs, and Len followed him back into the privacy of his quarters. “I bet they had trouble keeping you in the box,” he said quietly. He should have made Mick talk about it when he was alive, but there were a hell of a lot of things he should have done back then. All he could do was start making up for some of them now.

Mick’s smirk was tired as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Had a hell of a lot of practice with jailbreaks over the years. Second time they tried it, when they had everyone else captured, I never really even went under.” His gaze grew distant, like he was seeing something that wasn’t in the room. “Only thing that ever held me worth a damn was the evil version of you.”

Pain sliced deep into Len’s gut. He accepted it, knowing he deserved it. “What did I do?”

“The usual evil doppelganger stuff. Talked about how you were glad to be rid of me, that I was worthless and a monster who needed to be put down.” He blinked, coming back into the moment, and looked up at Len. “Same shit I always told myself, now that I think about it. But it felt different, coming from you.”

“I would _never_ say _any_ of that, Mick.” Len felt raw, like someone had ripped open his insides. “I would never _think_ it. You’re the best person I’ve ever known, and the only reason I’ve ever had even the _slightest_ belief in humanity.”

Mick started to make a scoffing sound, then stopped as he realized Len was serious. He blinked, looking stunned. “How?” His eyes were suspiciously damp. “ _Why?_ ”

The pressure inside Len’s chest was immense as he crouched down in front of Mick, lightly curving his hand around the shape of Mick’s knee. If he concentrated hard enough, he almost imagined he could feel it. “If you make me sing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ right now,” he managed, voice rough, “I’m going to be extremely annoyed with you.”

That made Mick laugh, just like it was supposed to, and he swiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Might be worth it.” Then he let out a breath, studying Len’s face with an expression he could finally, _finally_ recognize as tenderness. “It was where they fucked up, though,” he said quietly, voice like gravel. “Minute I had the real you to compare him to again, evil you started losing his power. I think it was part of the reason he wanted me to kill you so bad.”

Len’s brow lowered. “You never even tried.” Not except for the fight in the holding cell, and even then not really. He hadn’t had the perspective to see it at the time, but Mick Rory in “kill” mode was absolutely brutal. The fight in the holding cell… that was working through anger issues. Nothing more.

Mick looked at him like he was an idiot. “Of course not. It was _you_.” Then his expression sobered. “I never would have done that to Lisa. I was just trying to hurt you.”

“I know.” Any part of him that had ever worried otherwise, even for a second, had been due solely the Time Bastards’ manipulation. He'd always trusted Mick with what really mattered, enough that he’d shattered his own hand to keep the asshole from getting himself killed. “Threw me for a second, but that’s all.”

Mick’s brow lowered. “You still gave me a chance to kill you.”

Len hesitated. He didn’t like remembering that moment. “They seemed like fair terms to me.”

“Don’t give me that.” Now he looked annoyed. “You’ve knocked me out enough times you know damn well you need a gun to do it. You were fully aware you weren’t going to be able to do shit barehanded.”

Mick had always seen more than most people gave him credit for. Len had to look down for a moment before he met Mick’s eyes again. “I’d either get you back, or I’d be dead and wouldn’t have to watch you go. Like I said, fair terms.”

Mick closed his eyes. “You _asshole_.”

“I know.” Len swallowed. “You love me anyway.”

Mick opened his eyes. “The hell of it is, I do.” His hand lifted, hovering for a moment like he’d stopped himself from trying to touch Len’s hair, before it came to rest on his other leg. “You broke me out, Len. You didn’t even have to crawl inside my head to do it.”

Len shook his head before Mick had finished speaking. “You got yourself out. You’re a hundred times stronger than Rip is.”

Mick’s hand lifted again, fingertips lightly reaching out to touch the spot where Len’s cheek was supposed to be. “I had to be,” he breathed. “I had to get to you.”

Len stared up at Mick’s face, wanting to kiss him so badly that he ached with it. Touch had never been a big thing for him – he actively avoided it, most of the time – but at the moment his life seemed like a hundred thousand missed opportunities to touch Mick Rory.

He was going to get his hands on a fucking body, no matter what he had to do.

Now, though, he blinked against a suspicious dampness in his eyes. “If you’re going to keep saying shit like that,” he managed, “I’m going to start singing Celine Dion at you when you’re out in public.”

Mick grinned. “Like I said, might be worth the risk.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, this includes as much spoilers for Flash 3X16 as it does Legends 2X14. You don't need to really have seen either to be able to follow the chapter, though, as long as you know that the Speed Force in Flash-land is populated by entities who take the form of people you know to either chide you or give you life lessons.

One moment, Len was in the NASA control room, standing next to Mick while they watched the Waverider plummet to earth on the advice of the asshole speedster. An eyeblink later, he was in one of those misty white spaces that movies always used when they wanted to duplicate heaven on the cheap.

And standing in front of him, arms folded across his chest and a disapproving look in his eyes, was Barry Allen.

Len pulled his ghostly cold gun, aiming it directly at not-Barry’s forehead and charged it. “Sorry, big guy, but I’m just not buying a version of the afterlife where Elohim looks like Barry Allen.”

Not-Barry pushed the tip of the cold gun down with one finger. “You’re not in heaven. You’re in the Speed Force,” he said with Barry’s voice. “We pulled your face out of Barry’s mind to slap some sense to him, and once we did we recognized the aberration we’ve been sensing in the time stream.”  

Len relaxed his finger on the trigger. “That’s me, aberrant in all the best ways.” He holstered his gun, casually looking around the place before meeting not-Barry’s eyes again. “Still, I don’t know why I’m any weirder than the time ship, the assholes trying to rewrite history, or the other assholes who were also trying to rewrite history.”

This was starting to shape up into an interrogation, which meant that his job was to get more information than whoever was trying to pump him for it. Then he’d either get sent back, or figure out how to get back to Mick himself.

“Despite the deeply unfortunate decisions many of those individuals are making, they’re all still part of the time stream.” Not-Barry was still trying to look stern, an expression that was as ineffective with him as it was with the real Barry. “You, on the other hand, are not. Ghosts don’t _exist_ outside of the Speed Force.”

“And yet here I am, proving you wrong.” Len held out his hands in a “What can you do?” gesture. “And before you ask, I’m not moving in.” He gestured to the misty whiteness. “The decor doesn’t really do it for me.”

“You prefer this?” The mist disappeared, replaced with the warehouse Len and Mick had been using just before Len had talked them both onto the Waverider.

“Actually, I do.” He brushed roughly past Not-Barry, lifting his wallet and slipping it into his jacket before flopping down onto the couch. “Now, you were saying something about me not being in the time stream, even though both the Waverider and myself are literally _in_ the time stream on a regular basis?”

“ _They’re_ supposed to be there. _You_ are not.” Honestly, if Mr. Mystic over here was trying to be intimidating, there are few _worse_ faces he could have chosen to wear than Barry Allen’s. “Their physical bodies anchor them when they’re outside of the time stream, and allow them to return to it. You don’t have a physical body, which means that you shouldn’t be anchored _anywhere_.”

Len shrugged, putting on his best insolent expression while watching Not-Barry like hawk. “What can I say? I’m stubborn.”

Not-Barry blew out a frustrated breath. “Listen, with the way everyone keeps rewriting the timeline, we have enough trouble holding everything together. But it all moves along with the flow, just the way it’s supposed to, except for you.” He narrowed his eyes at Len. “You were supposed to be reborn during Flashpoint.”

Len went utterly still. “Pardon?”

“Only temporarily, but it should have happened.” Not-Barry turned away to start pacing. “In that reality, Cisco never made the cold gun. If he never made the cold gun, the chain of events never would have started that brought you and Mick to the Waverider.” He turned, looking at Len again. “Mick was outside of the time stream the entire time, so it wouldn’t have affected him. You, however, should have been snapped back.”

Muscles that didn’t exist were iron-tense. “So I should be _alive_ right now?

Not-Barry shook his head. “Barry fixed the timeline, mostly. Once he did, you would have died again.” His expression shifted, moving more into “wounded justice” territory. Apparently, he’d finally realized that “stern” wasn’t a look that was going to be terribly effective with Len. “But you didn’t, because you anchored yourself to Mick.”

Len tilted his head, watching Not-Barry’s face. “Or because the universe knew what I’d be like without Mick, and decided it didn’t want me.”

Not-Barry made a disbelieving noise. “You’re hardly the universe’s biggest monster, Snart.”

“Ah, but you haven’t seen me without Mick.” He stretched the words out, giving them his best gangster drawl. “What I still don’t understand, though, is why you _care_.”

“Because you’re a rock in the time stream.” Not-Barry’s expression was solemn. “You humans can step into it, step out of it, and change its course, but you’re not supposed to be able to say ‘screw you’ and decide not to move.”

Len shrugged again. “Blame the Oculus.”

“Except all of the Time Masters blew up with the Oculus, and none of them did the same thing you did.” Not-Barry stepped back, examining Len closely. “That worries us.”

“It’s good to be worried.” Len gave him a long, slow smirk, mulling over everything he’d just heard. He was a rock in the time stream, was he? He could work with that. “Keeps the blood pumping.”

Not-Barry shifted back to his original disapproving look. “You’re not a hero, are you?”

“Thank you!” Len threw his hands up. “No one else seems to have processed that! I’m an anti-hero at best.”

Not-Barry smirked a little. “Then you might want to know that Barry thinks he’s the reason you decided to become a hero.”

Len groaned, rolling his eyes and dropping his head back onto the couch. “Fantastic. You know he’s going to be even more insufferable than usual after this, right?”

Not-Barry gave a cocky shrug. “If we have to deal with him, so do you.”

“Well, it’s clear you’re such a charmer.” Len lifted his hand again. “So, I presume you need to give me some kind of warning about not fucking up the time stream any more than everyone else is, and then I can go.”

“No.” Not-Barry just watched him. “We brought you here because we wanted to figure out what was happening.”

“Then I’ll make it simple for you.” Len leaned forward, putting his feet flat on the floor. “Mick Rory is the only afterlife I have any kind of interest in. I go where he goes.”

Not-Barry sighed. “You know you sound suspiciously like Barry talking about Iris, right?”

Len pointed a warning finger at the mystical entity. “Take that back.”

Not-Barry shook his head. “We’ll be watching you. Try not to break anything while you’re down there.”

An instant later, he was back in the control room. Mick was looking at him, relief in his eyes, then he pulled a pen out of his pocket and wrote on the inside of his hand. _You blinked out. What happened?_

Len shrugged. “One of the cosmic assholes watching Barry decided I annoyed him.”

Mick’s brow lowered. _It happens again_ , he wrote, _tell them I’ll kick their asses._

Len couldn’t stop his lips from curving. “I’ll do that.”

As Mick turned back to the problem at hand, Len carefully reached down and pressed a palm against the jacket pocket where he’d slipped Not-Barry’s wallet. It... pulsed, almost, and there was a faint energy vibration. Like he’d stolen a wallet-shaped piece of the Speed Force.

Just like he’d planned. After all, who knew when something like that would come in handy?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 2X15, or at least my version of it. There will be at least one more chapter based off that episode, maybe two, and from that point on I'm going to steal the plot completely and run off cackling down the street.

He could get his body back.

That was all Len could think as he stared down at the now-whole Spear of Destiny, and from the look on Mick’s face Len knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. Going back to the Vanishing Point had been hard on both of them – Len had finally gotten a good look at the remnants of the torture device, and Mick had spent way too damn long staring at the space where the Oculus had been.

_“I’m sorry, Mick,” Len had said, moving to stand close to his partner. “I should have come up with a better plan.”_

_Mick inhaled like it hurt. “I haven’t wanted to tell you this,” he rumbled, low enough that no one else would overhear. Even at that volume, the pain in his voice was as obvious as if he’d been shouting. “But your plans are kind of shit sometimes.”_

_Len laid a hand lightly against Mick’s shoulder, the weight of what he’d done pressing down on his chest. “I’m starting to figure that out.”_

Mick had pulled himself away – he’d always been so damn strong – but Len knew the only way he could really atone for everything he’d done to Mick would be to come back completely. And to do that, he’d need a body.

The piece of the Speed Force in his pocket was pulsing wildly, pulled toward the Spear with enough force that it lifted part of his jacket. His fingers brushed close to the spear, ignoring the conversation around him as he thought. He couldn’t simply keep himself from dying – if he did that, Mick would end up being the one on the chopping block, and that was unacceptable  – but there were an infinite number of other possibilities. All they had to do was find the best one...

Mick’s hand lifted, reaching out toward the spear again, then stopped. He pulled it back again, meeting Len’s eyes with one of those looks Len had always understood as well as words. “You’re right,” Len agreed, glancing around at the rest of the crew. “Given how they reacted the last time you grabbed the spear, they’ll tag-team you and keep you from going anywhere near it. We’ll wait until everyone’s back is turned, then grab it.”

Mick relaxed, lips flickering upward just a little, and Len felt something suspiciously close to hope burning in his chest. What they wanted to do wasn’t even villainous – it wasn’t as if they were going to take over the world with it. Len didn’t even plan on _keeping_ it, since wishing treasures into your lap was _so_ much less interesting than stealing them yourself. He just wanted to be alive, and with Mick, and have them both be safe. Barry Allen had re-written reality enough times for similarly selfish reasons, and he was a damn _superhero_. 

Len set his hand down, trying to see whether the different energy inside the Spear was anything he could feel, when he realized he could actually see the Spear through his hand. He jerked back, in case it was a side effect of a ghost who wasn’t supposed to exist coming to close to a Spear that could re-write reality, but his hand was even _more_ see through when he held it up again. He could _feel_ it now, like he was _dissolving_.

It was then that Mick realized what was happening. “Len!” he yelled, any pretense at secrecy forgotten as he shoved his way to Len’s side. Various crew members tried to grab him, anyone close enough to be in his way, but he shook them off like they were nothing. “Len!”

The raw anguish in Mick’s voice hurt more than his body, which felt like it was tearing apart on a microscopic level. The Speed Force in his pocket grew warm, flowing through his jacket and feeling like it was melting into his body. _Through_ his body, to be precise, and he remembered Not-Barry calling him a rock in the time stream. A strong enough current, however, could carry even the heaviest rock away.

_Fuck_ that _._

He slapped a hand over the spot where the Speed Force was melting through him. “I’ll come back, Mick,” he swore, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on whatever part of his timeline was being messed with. He pushed harder, physically reaching inside himself, and caught a flash of the warehouse he’d used when he and Mick had separated. Damian Darkh’s face was smiling at him, and Len realized that the Legion of Assholes was trying to change his timeline. If he never got on board, he’d never die. If he never died, his ghost-self no longer existed.

All of this flashed through his mind in an instant, leading to an ice-cold realization. If the Legion of Assholes was grabbing him _then_ , they didn’t give a shit about Mick. Whatever they did to the timeline might _keep_ them separated, and the old version of him wouldn’t know where or when the hell Mick was.

He opened his eyes, his gaze locking with Mick’s. “You’d better damn well stay alive, because I’m coming back for you.”

Then he threw himself into the time stream, years flowing past him in a rush. He clung to himself, concentrating on the memories that made him who he was as everything else streamed past him. He could still feel the pulse of the Speed Force, merging with his memory of his heartbeat to form a slightly different rhythm than the reality flowing around him.

If he survived this, that could end up proving interesting.

Now, though, he had more immediate things to worry about. He moved his other hand away from his body, jamming it into the time stream, and _felt_ as he got closer to 2014. When he sensed the right moment, distended and warped by the presence of people who never should have been there, he held on tight. Specifically, he held onto himself, remembering the cold that had overtaken him the longer he’d been without Mick. Remembering Lisa’s worry that he’d lose himself, how easy it was to obsess over plans and the Flash so he wouldn’t have to think about the fact that a piece of him was missing.

That Leonard Snart was even more of an asshole than he was. But both of them still wanted Mick Rory than anything else in the world. He’d make them _both_ happy.

Besides, could you _really_ steal something that was already yours?

The time stream jerked, flinging him into the moment. Flinging him into _himself_ , slamming him back into his old body with a shock. There was a dizzying moment while new memories shoved their way into a body that wasn’t supposed to have them yet, and Len concentrated hard to hold onto them.

He hit his knees. Solid knees, that crashed _into_ the cement floor instead of stopping where invisible knees remembered the floor was supposed to be.

He was _alive_.

“Snart?” Darkh leaned forward, the picture of solicitousness. “You okay?”

Len took a deep breath. “Yeah.” He put on his best criminal drawl, even though he hadn’t used it as much during this time period. It was no fun playing the bad guy if Mick wasn’t around to appreciate it. “Low blood sugar.” He stood up, deliberately ignoring Darkh’s proffered hand, and gave him his best sneer. “Too busy committing crime to eat right.”

“You do have quite an impressive track record.” Darkh tucked his hand away. “But even money gets uninteresting after awhile, wouldn’t you say?”

Len cocked an eyebrow. “You have something better?” He hadn’t expected a job offer, but that would only make it easier to get back to Mick. And if he could keep these assholes from taking over reality, then so much the better.

Darkh smiled, slow and dangerous. “Oh, we _absolutely_ do.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the boys inform me that they'll have the matter 100 percent resolved, and the day completely saved, by the end of my version of 2X15. At this point, it seems silly not to just let them do it, even though getting there is going to take a few more chapters. 
> 
> Also, this chapter needed some Mick POV, which you'll find in the section entirely in italics.

They’d cut it close, Len realized. The Legion of Assholes had caught him just after he’d stolen the cold and heat guns, less than a week before he’d snapped and gone back for Mick. The old him, Len suspected, would have jumped at the chance – he’d been trying so hard to pretend he hadn’t grabbed the heat gun for Mick he would have jumped at any distraction, even time-traveling world domination. If it managed to net him Mick anyway, so much the better.

He did hope even the old him would have had the good sense to double-cross these guys, though. Delusions of grandeur in an associate _always_ caused more trouble than it was worth.

“So.” Len gave the word his best insolent drawl as he studied Darkh and the evil speedster. He still felt the echo of the Speed Force’s pulse in his chest, and he knew he had to stay distracting enough that the speedster didn’t notice. “I suppose you parked your time machine down the street. Hope you paid enough for parking – enforcement around here is _so_ picky.”

“I have that handled,” the speedster said easily, giving Len an evaluating look. “Are you sure you’ll be able to keep up?”

In answer, Len held up the wallet he’d stolen off of Darkh while the other man had been in the middle of his spiel. “I think I have that covered.”

Darkh grabbed the wallet back, looking impressed despite himself, while the speedster smirked. “I _like_ you.” He held a hand out. “I hope you don’t get carsick.”

Len took his hand, the world disappearing in a blur. As it slipped away, he visualized forcing the Speed Force energy out of his body and into the time stream behind him. Picturing what he wanted to have happen, and what the time stream itself should _want_ to have happen, with every fiber of his being.

If he broke this moment off into an alternate timeline, then Len could go off and do something stupid while his 2014 self stayed right the hell where he was supposed to be. It was good enough for “Star Trek,” which meant it should be damn well good enough for a reality where you could break causality by running really fast.

As the time stream closed behind him, he was almost certain he caught a glimpse of himself still standing in the warehouse, playing with the cold gun. But he couldn’t be sure.

000

_The crew held him back, assumed he’d gone crazy when he’d lunged forward shouting after someone no one else could see and everyone knew was dead. Stein said something about a brain injury, and as soon as his self-preservation instincts kicked in Mick mumbled something about going back to the Vanishing Point hitting him harder than he’d thought. Everyone nodded, looking uncomfortable and telling him he should go rest. They could go after the Tolkien guy on their own._

_Mick nodded, the biddable thug he’d pretended to be so many times over the years. He headed back to his quarters, pretending like he couldn’t hear the spear whispering even from here. Telling him he could wish for his parents back, undo all the harm he’d caused. It would take a piece of his soul, the spear sang in his ear, but what did that matter? There wasn’t much left of it anyway._

_The spear was right, which was the problem – someone like him didn’t deserve that kind of atonement. Besides, he’d have to wish the fire out of his heart to be sure of saving everyone, of erasing the decades where he’d barely been more than a break away from vanishing into the flames. If he was going to clean the world of everything he’d done wrong, best to just wish himself out of existence._

_If he did that, though, a 14-year-old Leonard Snart would have died in juvie. If that had happened, there was a damn good chance Lisa wouldn’t have survived her childhood. He’d trade the dregs of his soul for their lives in a second._

_And, once the majority of the crew was running around 1940-whatever, he would. Wishing his parents back would fuck the time stream all to hell, but Len hadn’t been gone that long. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t need to actually switch time. All Len needed was a body._

_He’d been left on the ship a lot while the team went out on missions, enough to confirm that Gideon’s computer systems were similar to the ones on the time ship he’d flown during his years as Chronos. He knew exactly how to bypass everything, the memories as ingrained into his fingers as even the smallest parts of his heat gun. Len had listened to him talk about all of it, seemingly fascinated by the explanation even though he couldn’t touch anything himself._

_Mick would bet money no one else had realized what he could do to the ship, even though they knew full well that Chronos had flown a time ship. They also seemed to forget that he’d spent the best years of his life as a thief, and even the most half-assed thief knew how to be sneaky when they needed to be._

_He’d steal the spear, then give up whatever was left of his soul to get Len back. After that, he didn’t care what happened._

000

“So, we need you to sneak onto the ship and—”

Len held up a hand to stop Merlyn, the third member of this little triumvirate of homicidal melodrama. “Let me stop you there and offer up a plan that’s actually clever, like having _Mick Rory_ steal the spear and bring it to us.”

Merlyn’s brow lowered, clearly annoyed that he’d been interrupted. “Rory?” he asked, enough derision in the word that Len was seriously considering punching him. “Isn’t he just your old muscle? How exactly do you expect him to pull off a job _we_ couldn’t?”

Len pushed away from the wall, his voice taking on an edge that had sent more than few flunkies scurrying for cover over the years. “One, just because Mick can throw a punch doesn’t mean he’s not also capable of outsmarting _you_ any day of the week. I only work with the best, and he’s the best.”

The evil speedster – Eobard, apparently, though why anyone would actually keep a name like that was beyond Len – shrugged. “They’re all idiots, but out of all of them Rory has come the closest to actually getting a shot at me.”

“You said ‘one.’” Darkh raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Clearly, you have another argument in support of this plan?”

“He’s our inside man, you morons,” Len drawled. “If I can get to him when they’re out running around on one of their little missions, I can have him steal the spear and bring it to us. If he’s not, then he can still walk me through any security protocols the dead me knew and I don’t.”

Darkh’s expression relaxed, clearly impressed, but Merlyn still looked suspicious. “How can you be sure he’ll do it?”

_Because he’s smarter than all of you, more sensible than everyone on the Waverider, and he won't need me to tell him what a perfect opportunity this is to take all three of you out. Also, if he’s not within arm’s reach as soon as humanly possible I’m going to have to kill someone._

Rather than saying any of that, though, Len just smirked. “Trust me,” he drawled. “I know my partner.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, technically, still within the same window of time as 2X15. Once again, the section with Mick's POV is in italics.
> 
> And, now that I've seen 2X16, I feel the need to emphasize - NOTHING EVEN REMOTELY CLOSE TO 2X16 HAPPENS HERE. GREG BERLANTI CAN KISS MY FUCKING ASS.

_With Sara staying on the ship, that left him with a very narrow window of time to execute his plan. Not that he couldn’t have taken her out in direct combat – he nearly had, back when the Time Bastards had fucked with his head enough to make him team up with the pirates – but he wasn’t sure he could do it without seriously hurting her. The best way to do that was catch her when she was piloting the ship back to World War II, then knock her out._

_That, however, was the last step of Mick’s plan. Before that, he had to take out Gideon using an override that suppressed the AI’s higher reasoning and left it running as a simple operating system keyed to obey only whoever had activated the protocol. It had been issued to Chronos, to make it easier for him to take over the ships of rogue agents, and if the Time Bastards had been thinking at all they would have seen that the fact he’d never used it on the Waverider was a pretty fucking big clue._

_At least, he’d never used it until now._

_Still, Gideon wasn’t the only barrier to him taking over the ship. Jax and Stein were still onboard, and if he gave them the chance to turn into Firestorm it would be a hell of a lot harder to get them out of the way without hurting them. He knocked Jax out first, sneaking up on him while he was deep in the innards of the ship trying to figure out what was wrong with Gideon. He’d stolen sedatives from medical, since a blow to the head wouldn’t leave them unconscious for long enough, and they took out both Jax and Stein easily._

_That just left Sara, who was now issuing increasingly angry instructions into the comms that made it clear she still didn’t know it was him doing all this. The override also cut off any unauthorized outside communications, so she was probably trying to find an emergency landing place somewhere so she could deal with whatever the hell was going on._

_Getting his last sedative ready, he headed for Sara. She couldn’t turn her head, but the moment she heard the footfalls she asked, “Are they dead?”_

_He considered not saying anything, not wanting to hear the “You monster!” speech, but he thought about Len and his sister and how much it sucked to think someone was dead. “No.”_

_Her shoulders tensed. “Somehow, I’m not surprised it’s you,” she snapped, furious._

_“Yeah.” He moved into position. “You guys haven’t exactly been subtle about that.”_

_She let go of the controls, clearly prepared to fight him even though they’d all die if the damn ship crashed, but he wrapped an arm around her neck to hold her in place. She fought him, biting his coat and pummeling fists into his head as she tried to squirm out of his hold, but she wasn’t expecting him to use an injector. Once he got it in, she went down fairly quickly._

_Then, moving her out of the seat, he saved the ship from its tailspin. Then he aimed for the same time Sara had, but a location hundreds of miles away from the designated meeting place._

000

Len had been more disappointed than was at all dignified to discover that Mick wasn’t part of the little battlefield hunt-and-find party, but he wasn’t about to give up yet. Yes, actually getting on the Waverider was more complicated, but he’d dealt with worse. Then the gathered crew members started making distressed noises that they suddenly couldn’t reach the ship, and Len was torn between worry and sheer criminal admiration.

“This is ridiculous,” Eobard snapped behind him. “They’re _right there_. We should just kill them now, and wait until the ship lands to kill the rest of them.”

“You speedsters are always so _miserably_ bad at planning ahead.” Len’s gangster voice was at full force, the better to give the impression that this was all just a game to him. “Death is one thing, but these hero types never seem to mind that much if they have hope to cling to. It’s so much more entertaining to crush their spirits first, and _then_ their bodies.”

Eobard actually looked impressed at that. “Fair enough.” He smiled a little. “No wonder you’re the only non-meta to achieve supervillain status.”

“Not the only. Mick’s just as human as I am.” He gestured to the device Eobard was holding. “Also, I’m pretty sure he’s just stolen the Waverider. Find him for me.”

Eobard looked down, surprised. “Sensors say the Waverider just broke atmosphere in a forested area in South Manitoba.”

“Then you’d better get me there.” If Mick had hijacked the ship, Len was going to kiss the hell out of him. If someone else had hijacked the ship, Len would kill whoever it was and _then_ kiss the hell out of Mick. “Then I’d leave us alone, if I were you. I’ll clearly have a ride back to the clubhouse, and if you stay you might see something that will scar your fragile innocent mind.”

Understanding slowly dawned over Eobard’s face, though he looked less than pleased about it. “Seriously? With Rory?”

Len gave Eobard his most wicked smile. “A man’s G spot _is_ up his ass, you know. Have you ever found yours?”

Eobard rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’ve made your point.” An instant later, he grabbed Len and they sped off.

One blur later, he was standing in a forested area with plenty of grass as Eobard ran off without him. He could see the Waverider in the distance, the back open, and Mick had Sara over his shoulder. He carried her out onto the grass, laying her down before heading back inside. Given what he knew about Mick, he was entirely certain she wasn’t dead.

Damn, this was really a beautiful little hijacking.

He stepped into the clearing, waiting until Mick had come back out with Stein in his arms. “My compliments to the pirate,” he called out, the smirk on his face dangerously close to a smile. “Though you did make me chase you down, which was faintly annoying.”

Mick’s head jerked around at the sound of Len’s voice, relief and hope flooding his face. He dropped Stein where he stood and hurried over, and Len felt a vindictive sense of satisfaction – that was for even _suggesting_ using Mick for a mind control experiment, asshole – as he got his own feet moving faster.

Mick jerked himself to a halt a few feet away, clearly still assuming that Len was non-corporeal. “What the hell happened?” he asked. “You were—“

The rest of the question had probably been perfectly valid, but he didn’t get a chance to say it with Len’s lips crashing into his. He was frozen for a moment, clearly not prepared, but when Len pulled him closer and deepened the kiss Mick finally got with the program. His arms came around Len, tight enough to crush ribs, but to Len it was the best feeling in the world. He felt like he was burning up, years of brutally ignored touch starvation all let out of their cages at once.

When they broke apart, needing oxygen, they just clung to each other. “I stole my 2014 body,” Len murmured against Mick’s skin. “I think I split the timeline, which means I won’t have to give it back, but I can’t be sure.”

Mick pulled away at that, turning back to the ship. “G-451,” he called out, “check the timeline of Leonard Snart.”

A flat computer voice that sounded almost nothing like Gideon responded. “Leonard Snart’s timeline remains unchanged up to the moment of his death.”

“Good.” Mick tightened his arms around Len again. “How did you get here, by the way?”

“The Legion of Doom decided 2014 me would be a good partner in crime, since they’re all great at murder but not so good at theft. I stole myself before they could finish the question, and said yes so I could get back to you.”

He felt Mick smile against his neck. “Not a bad little plan.”

Len’s chest tightened, like there wasn’t enough room for all the emotion in there. “Now I’m going to steal you back, but we should probably use the Spear to wipe them all out of existence first. Maybe get you the Mona Lisa at the same time.”

Mick tensed. “You should let me do it. It keeps whispering things in people’s heads, giving them suggestions, and every time it says it’ll take a piece of your soul in payment. I don’t know what that means, but….”

Before he’d died, Len wasn’t sure he would have believed it. But his time as a ghost had given him much more of an appreciation for the concept of souls. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Since we should probably leave both of our souls wherever they are at the moment, that means we do this the old fashioned way.”

“Works for me,” Mick breathed, his entire body relaxing again. “I’ve got to finish getting Stein and Jax off the ship, but then I can take you anywhere you need to go.”

Really, they should leave now, no matter what he’d insinuated to Eobard. But in order to do that, he’d have to let go of Mick. “Not yet, though,” Len said finally, holding onto his partner even more tightly.

He felt Mick’s smile again. “I like this plan.”


	16. Chapter 16

Eventually, they made themselves move, depositing Stein and Jax in the grass next to Sara and heading off to the coordinates Len had gotten from Merlyn. Len stayed next to Mick in the pilot’s seat, rather than by the Spear, because now that he had a body again he could hear the whispering. How he could make everything perfect if he just changed a few things, killed his father earlier or fought to consolidate some real power or told Mick he was in love with him that much faster.

How he could change Mick’s father so he’d never hit Mick, then give both he and Mick’s mother back to him as a present. Not change the timeline, of course – he’d lose Mick that way – but just… bring them back. There was nothing stopping him, except that little bit about losing a part of your soul. There were a dozen different ways to interpret that, whether or not you believed in the afterlife, and most of them were trouble.

For example, the longer he went without Mick, the more of a cold-hearted bastard he became. You could argue, then, that Mick was his metaphorical soul, which seemed like exactly the sort of thing a mysterious artifact of immense power would do. If movies and TV were to be believed, they were assholes like that.

So Len didn’t pick it up, didn’t even go near it, until they’d landed at the coordinates he’d gotten from Merlyn and they’d made all their last-minute preparations. He hesitated even then, telling himself to let the words wash over him the way his father’s insults used to. They hadn’t mattered, not in the end, and neither did any of the promises a stick of wood and metal tried to whisper in his ear.

Still, he was grateful for the distraction when Mick stepped back into the room. “Axel’s been fed, and unless we die bloody in the next half hour he should be fine until we make it back home.”

“I still don’t know why you named him Axel,” Len said, clinging to the banter. “You don’t like Guns N’ Roses any better than any of the other rock bands you’ve ever listened to.”

Mick gave him a “You’ve gotta be kidding me” look. “Why the hell would I name him after Axl Rose? One, it’s not even spelled the same way, and two, ‘Chinese Democracy’ sucked.”

Len stopped, brow furrowing. “Then why did you name him Axel?”

Mick shrugged. “I named him for those spinning jump things Lisa used to do during those ice skating lessons she took as a kid.” At Len’s obvious surprise, his brow lowered. “What? They were cool.”

Touched, Len shook his head. “Lisa’s going to dote on the damn thing the second you tell her that. You know that, right?”

Mick smiled a little. “I’ll warn him.”

Then, of course, it was all business as they walked out to meet the Legion of Melodrama. They were waiting for them at the bottom of the Waverider’s gangplank like some sort of supervillain welcome-back party. Eobard smirked at the sight of them, holding out a hand to Merlyn, who passed him a bill before going off to sulk in the corner. Darhk, standing between them, just looked impressed. “I knew your reputation, but this is even more efficient than I thought you’d be. Did you kill the Legends?”

“No need – it was easier to leave them marooned in time.” Len smirked back at Darkh, staying where he was while Mick slouched off to take a seat on some crates behind the Legion. Len was careful not to acknowledge the move at all, and Merlyn and Eobard gave him no more than a cursory glance before ignoring him as well. “Besides,” Len continued, “this leaves you the chance to go back and kill them later. Consider it a present.”

“Thoughtful as well.” Darkh smiled. “You _are_ a prize.”

“I’m not sure I want to kill them, though,” Eobard argued. “They could prove useful once we re-wrote reality.” He shrugged. “I mean, who _doesn’t_ want superpowered slaves who listen to your every whim?”

“It’s safer to kill them,” Merlyn snapped. “Heroes who are just imprisoned always seem to come back and screw things up in the end.”

“We can deal with that later, once we’re setting up the reality,” Darkh ordered, making both Eobard and Meryln look mulish.

“Who’s going to be in charge of that, by the way?” Len asked easily, as behind the three Mick slowly stood. “From everything I know about the Spear of Destiny, it really doesn’t seem to be a team-effort sort of artifact. Which of the three of you is going to be calling the shots?”

“All decision-making processes will be made jointly,” Darkh said, reaching for the Spear in Len’s hand. “It’s already been discussed.”

“But you’ll be running the show?” Len sneered, meeting Eobard’s eyes. He could only imagine the whispers they were all hearing. “Funny, I always thought the speedster was the smart one.”

Everything happened at once. Darkh grabbed the spear, half turning toward Eobard, who had been prepared to zoom in and steal the spear right out of Darkh’s hands. Speedsters tended to be utterly predictable like that, at least in Len’s experience, and despite their variations in personality criminals were usually only slightly less predictable.

Like the way they’d all seen a gun in the holster at Len’s side, and utterly failed to notice that it was one of the random guns from the Waverider. The real freeze gun had been tucked in Mick’s coat, out of sight, and as Len said the word “speedster” Mick had stood and fired both their guns at the same time. Eobard, not familiar with the sound of the freeze gun, didn’t try to speed away until he was already in the center of a block of ice. Merlyn, busy being on fire, was of no help to anyone.

Darkh turned around, prepared to do something terrible to Len, only to be stopped by the normal, old-fashioned bullet Len shot into his stomach. The big guns were much more fun, it was true, but there was nothing like a handgun when you wanted to hide something.

Darkh crumbled, using the last of his energy to try to hold onto the Spear as Len ripped it from his hand. “I’ll… get you for…. this….”

Len sighed. “All the closing lines in the world, and you pick that one.” Then he put a second bullet in the middle of Darkh’s forehead, shooting another into the forehead of the still-burning Merlyn where he’d fallen. Then, when Mick tossed him the freeze gun, he tossed Mick the Spear and iced everything down to make sure they didn’t burn the lair down around them.

Then he immediately turned the gun back on Eobard, who was still stuck in his column of ice looking triumphant and more than a little insane. “You know I can make my molecules move as fast as I do, right?” he said, face splitting into a manic grin. “You can shoot that thing at me all you want, but I’ll keep melting myself free.”

“I do know that,” Len said easily. “I _have_ fought speedsters before.”

The grin turned furious. “This could have been so _easy_ ,” he spat, “But now you’re asking for it. The moment you run out of ammo, you and your little fuckbuddy will be so dead. Then I’ll go back and kill all your past selves, just to make it clear you should _never_ —“

Anything else he’d been about to say was cut off as Mick drove the Spear through Eobard’s neck, cutting him off with a gurgle and drowning everything else out in a flash of white light. Then a shadow sped through that light, vaguely person-shaped, and Eobard gave a broken, gurgling scream.

When the light cleared, Eobard’s face was frozen in a rictus of absolute terror. He also seemed to be definitively dead, though the really interesting thing was that the Spear wasn’t whispering anymore. Mick, coming closer, cocked his head. “You think we killed it, too?”

Len shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’m officially declaring it to be not our problem.” He stepped back, looking at Eobard critically. “Still, we should probably find something to cut his head off with, just in case. I know the Flash’s healing has been damned inconvenient at times, and I don’t want that to happen again.”

“You can call him Barry now, you know,” Mick said, hunting around the unburned boxes for something sharp. “I saw him without the mask during the whole big fight against the aliens.”

“I keep forgetting about that.” Len smirked as he went to help Mick look. “Unless Barry’s managed to blow everything up again while we’ve been away, getting back to Central City is going to be _fun_.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we're finally at the end of this little adventure, I hope you’ve gotten some measure of entertainment or catharsis out of all this. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, particularly the people who reviewed multiple chapters. Without you, this fic would still be half-finished someplace and probably lit on fire. 
> 
> As for me, though, the season 2 finale of “Legends” is the last episode of this damn show that I ever watch. If either Len or Mick try to get me to watch this piece of shit again, for whatever reason, I plan on punching them square in the face.
> 
> (Note, now that I've watched the finale: Fuck you, Legends writers. Fuck you all the way to hell. Leonard Snart has NEVER been able to kill Mick Rory. You fucking well used that as a PLOT point last season, and you can't tell me that five fucking episodes with these losers SUDDENLY made him not able to kill Mick, because - spoiler alert - it was ALSO A FUCKING PLOT POINT ON THE FLASH!!!!!!!! They've been partners for FUCKING DECADES, YOU DIPSHITS!!!!!!! HE REMINDED MICK TO WEAR HIS SEATBELT IN MICK'S FIRST APPEARANCE ON THE FLASH!!!! HE WAS READY TO THROW DOWN WITH SAVAGE IN EP 2 FOR BEING ROUGH WITH MICK!!!! IT'S THE SAME FUCKING MAN!!!! FUCK YOU!!!!!!)

“We don’t _have_ to go get them,” Len urged, using his most persuasive voice. He wasn’t entirely certain he meant what he was saying, but they’d already saved the world and seemingly de-activated an artifact that could have given them ultimate power. It seemed wrong that they not do _something_ criminal. “They could have long and happy lives back in 19-whatever. In fact, they might be _happier_ than the lives they’d have back in 2017.”

Mick just gave him a long-suffering look. “What the hell would we do with a time ship, Len?”

“Crime!” Len threw his hands up in the air. “I promised you time-hopping crime, Mick. This would be me, finally delivering.”

Mick sighed, then seemed to realize something and leaned forward to steal a kiss instead. Len melted embarrassingly quickly, and Mick must have felt it because his expression immediately turned smug. “You also said we could go home, Len,” he rumbled, his voice promising all kinds of things. “That’s the only thing I want right now.”

Len licked his lips, deciding whether or not to just jump Mick then and there. “For the record, I like that better than when we used to point guns at each other.”

Mick grinned. “So do I.” Then he looked up. “Chronos-11875-Alpha officially releases Timeship G-451 under its own recognizance.”

Immediately, the entire ship lit up. “I was prepared to electrocute you, Mr. Rory,” Gideon announced. “But a quick scan of the ship shows that the Spear of Destiny is no longer giving off energy readings and there are two and a half corpses in my cargo hold that appear to match the criminals we’ve been chasing through the timestream.” The computer’s voice turned arch. “I do, however, note that the rest of the crew is not on board, though Mr. Snart appears to have returned from the dead.”

“I feel so welcomed,” Len said dryly.

Mick just looked amused. “If they haven’t managed to get themselves killed, the rest of the crew should be right where you left them. If you promise not to electrocute me, I’ll get you back there.”

The computer paused, as if it was thinking about it. “Very well. But you could have asked, Mr. Rory.”

Mick shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to argue.” He pointed at Len. “It’s a tactic I picked up from this guy.”

Len just smirked. “Works, doesn’t it?”

They managed to _almost_ make it back to where they’d left the rest of the team. Six months had passed, according to Gideon, and everyone had gathered in London. Ray must have rigged up another way to listen for it, because once they landed everyone was waiting for them.

Needless to say, they all appeared quite annoyed.  “Give me one reason why we shouldn’t kill—“ Sara started, breaking off when she saw who came up behind him. All of the suspicion on her face disappeared, replaced by naked shock. “Snart?”

“To answer your question, if you killed him I’d have to kill all of you. Slowly, with considerable attention to detail.” Len leaned into Mick, their arms pressing close. “Also, he wouldn’t be able to give Amaya her present.”

Amaya stepped forward, moving between Sara and Mick. “Present?”

Mick tossed her the bag he was holding. “Sorry you didn’t get the chance to do it yourself.”

She opened the bag, emotion flooding her face when she saw what was inside. She swallowed, looking back up at Mick. “Tell me he suffered.”

Mick nodded, expression serious. “As much as we could make him.”

Nodding back, she turned around and pulled the severed head of Eobard Thawne out to show the rest of the team. “I _told_ you Mick wouldn’t have stolen the Spear for himself,” she said firmly.

“Speaking of the Spear,” Len cut in, pulling it from behind hia back and tossing it down to Rip. “We’re pretty sure it’s dead.”

Rip caught the spear, hesitating while he listened for the whispers that weren’t there anymore, then looked back up and Len in astonishment. “That’s not possible.”

“What can we tell you?” Len shrugged theatrically. “Apparently it didn’t approve of being stuck through Eobard’s neck.”

Ray nodded, as if the news made perfect sense to him, then turned to the history nerd. “You did say that blood could kill it.”

“Christ’s blood!” the history nerd argued. “It was supposed to be _Christ’s_ blood.”

“It didn’t specify that,” Jax added. “It just said blood. Plus, Thawne was a pretty bad guy, and technically you could argue he came back from the dead. It makes sense.”

“More than Christ’s blood would have, in fact,” Stein argued. “It defies all scientific law that the activating agent and neutralizing agent would be the same thing.”

“Oh, and we killed Darkh and Merlyn, too,” Mick added. “They’re in the cargo hold.”

Rip’s brow lowered. “Darkh was from 1987, which means killing him alters the timeline.”

“No one else seems to care about altering the timeline,” Len shot back. “I don’t see why the hell we should.”

Sara’s shock cracked, turning fragile. “Does that mean Laurel is alive again?” she asked, voice hesitant. She whirled on Rip. “ _You_ said she couldn’t be saved!”

Rip threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t see going back in time and murdering Darkh as a viable option!”

Len’s whistle cut through the air. When he had everyone’s attention, he started walking down the gangplank. “Arguing time is later.” When he got to the history nerd, he punched him in the throat. “ _That_ was for taking care of your personal interests instead of saving Mick’s life,” he sneered at the man as he doubled over choking. Then he walked over to Stein and punched him in the stomach. “ _That_ was for even suggesting using Mick as a test subject for a mind-control experiment.”

When he turned to everyone else, they all flinched back but Amaya. When he met her eyes, she lifted her shoulders. “I deserve to have you punch me for the same reason you punched Nate,” she said quietly.

“You get a pass,” Len grumbled, “both because it sounds like you argued for Mick and because I’m really grateful for your terrible taste in men.”

She blinked, startled, then she smiled. “You had nothing to fear,” she murmured. “He was grieving even more deeply than I was.”

While Len was trying to figure out a safe way to respond to that, Mick came down to stand next to him. “The Waverider’s yours again, and the world’s been saved. All we need is for you to drop us off in 2017.”

Ray hesitated. “Mick, you don’t have to—“

He was cut off by Len’s glare. “You’re lucky I’m not punching the rest of you in the face over how you treated Mick while I was dead.”

Mick just smiled. “Thanks, Haircut. But I need to go home.”

Sara cleared her throat. “I need to stop by 2017 as well.” She glared over at Rip. “We’d be happy to drop you off.”

000

Amaya and Ray both hugged Mick goodbye, and Jax and Stein both apologized again for their treatment of him. Sara squeezed his shoulder, murmuring her own apology, and gave Len a complicated look he was in no mood to try and translate. Then she was off to Star City, having received word that Laurel was indeed alive. Amaya, surprisingly, hugged Len as well.

Rip shook both of their hands. “You are more than I thought you were,” he admitted.

Mick made a dismissive noise. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Len just smirked. “What he said.”

Then it was just the two of them, and one small problem. “We’ve got a safe house near here,” Len said, annoyed. “But if I remember correctly, the beds are shit.”

“You do remember correctly,” Mick rumbled, taking Axel's cage from Len. “If I were you, I’d steal us a credit card so we can get a hotel room for the next week.”

Len grinned at the implication. “A week, huh?”

Mick grinned back. “To start.”

Len was pretty sure he’d never stolen a credit card that quickly, and they found themselves a hotel almost as fast.

Sleep happened... eventually.

000

Len was deeply annoyed when he opened his eyes to see his and Mick’s old hide-out, Not-Barry glaring at him. “I was _sleeping_ , asshole,” Len growled. “ _On Mick_ , which it turns out is a whole new level of sleeping I’ve been missing out on. Go yank Barry out of a nap or something.”

“ _Barry_ has to go through a whole process to speak to us, but since you still have traces of the Speed Force you _stole_ still inside you we have more flexibility,” Not-Barry snapped. “Do you have _any_ idea how much trouble you caused?”

“Less than everyone else, I’m guessing,” Len shot back, unrepentant. “Mick and I cleaned up a hell of a mess for you.”

“You changed the timeline!”

“For the _better_.” Len folded his own arms across his chest, mimicking Not-Barry’s pose. “Tell me one thing that’s worse because Darkh died earlier. _One_.”

Not-Barry tensed, like he still wanted to argue, then he sighed. “Honestly, you caught him late enough that  there’s been surprisingly few shockwaves to the overall timeline. Laurel Lance is back, Oliver and Felicity Queen are married, and Oliver Queen is mayor, but the changes seem to have improved matters in Star City considerably. Nothing else has really been affected.”

“See?” Len held up his hands. “Sometimes change is a good thing.”

Not-Barry’s eyes narrowed again. “You split the timeline,” he said darkly. “That’s not your body.”

Len tensed. “Are you planning on making me give it back?” he asked, putting all the threat he had into his voice.

Not-Barry actually winced at that. “And have you loose in the timestream again? No thank you.” He looked annoyed. “We made the branch-off permanent, and are looking into using the technique ourselves rather than allow situations like Eobard Thawne to crop up again.”

Relief washed through Len. “See? You even learned something new.”

Not-Barry made a deeply exasperated sound. “We still don’t understand how you could _do_ any of this, and possibly more importantly why you _didn’t_. You could have done anything you wanted in the timestream, re-written reality over and over again with the Spear, and all you did was steal your body back and kill a killer before his time. _Why?_ ”

Len shrugged, not sure what to say. “I needed to make sure I had Mick. Everything else would have risked that.”

Not-Barry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You really _do_ sound like Barry talking about Iris.”

Len glared at him. “You’re deranged.”

Not-Barry shook his head. “We’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Before he could argue, Len opened his eyes in the darkened hotel room. Underneath his cheek, Mick stirred. “Len?”

“It’s nothing,” Len murmured, pressing a kiss against Mick’s scarred chest. “Mysterious cosmic forces just wanted to yell at me again.”

“They can’t have you,” Mick mumbled, already drifting back to sleep. “You’re mine.”

Len smiled as he closed his eyes. “Yes, I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my new original fiction on my [blog](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


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